


Watercolor

by Dissonance



Category: Sam and Colby, Sam and Colby (YT), Youtubers, youtube - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, F/M, Gen, He's not really signifigant, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Kidnapping, Lots of Whump, Nightmares, Sam and Colby - Freeform, Suicidal Thoughts, The oc is the captor, Torture, Whump, but solby if you squint, nothing descriptive, other than a tool for whump, probably too angsty, this is gen, trigger warning, urban exploring, urban exploring gone wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-01-06 01:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12200928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dissonance/pseuds/Dissonance
Summary: Sam sprains his ankle on the trip wire while they're escaping the Forest Haven asylum.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a short of on the side project, with some good angst coming.
> 
> I don't really know how to write Sam and Colby, but I've been binge watching their videos, so I think I at least have Sam kinda down. I don't really know how he'd act if he was in this situation, that's the issue.
> 
> Also I'm not rereading these after I've written them, so there's bound to be a bunch of mistakes.  
> I wrote this one at three am so it might be a little weird and badly written..

"Oh! Trip wire, _trip wire!_ "

The warning came too slow, as Sam's foot caught, coming to a halt as he was thrown to the ground. Halfway down, a hacky-sack hit the side of his face. His chin slammed against a rock, and he let out a yell, head spinning, vision darkening around the edges. 

Everything was muddled, the greens and browns of the surrounding area melting together in a water-colored painting. Even sounds were slightly muted, and it took him a second to realize someone was calling his name.

"Sam, sam!" Colby shouted, crouching next to his friend. Sam groaned uselessly, his frown deepening. Blood dripped from his chin, which had been cut from the fall. "Are you okay?" He asked worriedly, bouncing nervously, his eyes flickering to the other youtubers they were collaborating with. They stared back with frightened, wild eyes, urging him to get up and run.

Sam shook his head. "I'm fine." He choked out, throat scratchy and hoarse, pushing himself off the ground. Colby grabbed his arm, helping him up.

"C'mon, man, we gotta go." He urged, letting Sam lean against him as he struggled to get his footing. Sam put his foot down, letting out a hiss, bringing it back off the ground. It was sprained, great. Colby's eyes softened. "You gotta stay up, Sam, we gotta go."

As he stopped speaking, a loud, blood-curdling scream echoed out from behind them. Sam's head whipped to face behind them, as did Colby's, and saw nothing. All they heard was tortured calls for help. When they turned back, the two brothers were sprinting away. Colby swore, immediately letting go of Sam to pick up the camera he'd set on the ground.

"Hey-" Sam started, but was cut off by the incredible pain coming from his ankle. He yelped, clenched his eyes shut as he put as much weight as possible on it, to make him used to it. It didn't work.

"We gotta _go_ , Sam!" Colby repeated quicker. He patted Sam on the arm twice, pulling once, as if to remind him they had to fucking get out of there. He looked Sam in the eyes, panicked cloudy blues meeting, before taking off.

Sam's heart, which had already been beating a considerable amount, was now going at light speed. He was breathing quick, pain making his breaths labored. He rushed forward, feeling tears well into his eyes at the incredible torturous feeling. He followed Colby, who he could only just see in the distance.

He ran for what seemed like hours. Colby had faded from sight. Sam pushed himself harder, praying to God that he'd see that familiar shape in the distance, but the only thing he achieved was another fall.

His head smacked into the pine needles, and he didn't have the strength to move again. His ankle ached, his chin stung, and his limbs felt like limp jello. He breathed in, deep inhales and exhales, trying to settle his heart rate and rest his legs so he could get up and run again. Those screams of bloody murder still rang throughout the forest, and Sam deeply regretted ever coming to that stupid asylum.

He tried to get up, setting his injured leg on the ground, before promptly falling back over. It hurt worse than before. With dizzy eyes he looked at it, a shocked noise coming out of his mouth at the sight. His ankle was swollen, some bits leaking little rivulets of watery blood. No no, not water, sweat.

Sam clenched his teeth, taking in a deep inhale. He shook his head once more, pulling himself over to a tree trunk. He leaned against it, finding it easier to breath like that. He closed his eyes, fingernails digging into the soft soil beside him.

This wasn't happening. No, it wasn't. He was back at home, editing some video. He just fell asleep. He wasn't alone in the middle of a jungle with someone getting fucking murdered in an abandoned asylum only like a thousand feet away.

The idea that he was alone struck up a feeling deep in his chest. His eyes snapped open, registering the complete darkness around him, only disturbed by the flashlight hooked to his belt. Anything could've been out there.

"COLBY!" Sam shouted, gathering up all the air in his lungs to scream for his best friend. His blue eyes flickered about, terror making it's way into his system. His brain started making him see faces in the blackness. "COLBY!? _HELP!_ " He yowled.

Sam shifted on the needle-strewn, chest rising and falling quickly, too quickly. Was this shock? It probably was. Oh god. Colby wasn't coming back. None of them were. He was alone, stuck outside in the middle of nowhere. He was going to die, an actual documented case of someone dying around the asylum. A noise sounded somewhere to his left, like thirty feet away, snapping him out of his thoughts. He dug his nails harder into the dirt, stiffening.

Stupidly, Sam opened his mouth. "Colby?" He called, not realizing that the screams from the asylum had stopped. "Colby, are you there? It's Sam, I'm right here!" Another crunching noise, closer, and Sam started to become hopeful. He heard what he thought was a sigh of relief, and turned his head. "Colby, thank god-"

Oh lord. That was not Colby. Not remotely Colby. Sam's eyes widened in horror, mouth agape. The man standing there was tall, too tall, with blood coating him toes to shoulders. His lifeless eyes were boring into Sam's skull, a smile of amusement settled on his sunken in and pale face. Sam shook his head, jumping off the ground with new found strength, and booking it in the direction of the car.

He didn't even make it five feet before a wire was wrapped around his bad ankle. It was then tightened, and Sam let loose a scream of terror and, well, bloody murder. " _HELP! COLBY! COLBY! ANYONE, OH GOD, PLEASE, HELP ME!_ " His throat was dry and hoarse, and it was hard to continue screeching. The man had started to drag him back in the direction of the asylum. Sam kicked and shrieked, grabbing at anything that could possibly help him escape. It was all futile, and he was getting desperate. He scratched at the dirt, leaving a trail of scratch marks along the path.

He was going to die. _He was going to die._ It was inevitable, he knew it. They were so closed to the asylum, he knew they'd be there in under minutes. He let out a few more cries for help, for Colby, before his mouth decided to cramp up and steal his voice away. All he could manage then was a few pitiful croaks and wheezes.

The man let out a small laugh at that. Then, he pulled harder at the wire, and it cut into the inflamed flesh of Sam's ankle. His ability to scream his heart out came back for that, one last noise before he slumped down against the ground, weeping loudly as he was pulled along. Adrenaline was not on his side.

It reminded him of when Sam Pepper 'pranked' him. But worse, so much worse. This was real, he knew it. It couldn't not be. Sam Pepper went to great lengths to complete his pranks, but he would never physically harm him, or anyone. Also, he definitely could not dirty his reputation anymore unless he wanted to be banned from youtube, maybe even arrested.

Sam let out a sob, curling on his side like a cat refusing to walk. He closed his eyes, trying to act like he wasn't being dragged to his death by a madman covered in someone else's blood. He was so scared, so, so scared.

"P-please let me go." Sam croaked, his voice shaking audibly, terror lacing his words.

A satisfied grunt sounded from his captor, but he did not respond verbally. This only made Sam more convinced of his fate, and he cried harder. Stopped fighting completely.

Soon, Sam recognized the rocky dirt trail you had to cross to get into the asylum. His eyes opened halfway, and yes, they were right next to it. He opened his mouth to take one more breath of fresh air before they were thrown into the musty building, and the man broke into a run.

Sam cried out softly, the wire shifted painfully around his swollen ankle. The blood was clumped around the thin strand of metal, and was now being disturbed, new blood flowing down and soaking his sock. His body flopped against the gravel, and then the messy, broken floor of the asylum. The man slowed.

Sam tried to dodge anything significant on the ground, but was struck in the face a few times by a couple chairs and a desk. His tears has generally subsided, and now he was filled with an incredible dread, his body limp and tired and unable to do anything important.

_Poor Colby._ Sam thought, eyes devoid of most emotion as he was pulled down corridors. _He'll have to grieve. And the rest of the guys._ He frowned, feeling sadness start to well up inside his chest again, but he pushed it down. He was accepting his death. _Colby'll blame himself. It's not his fault, though._

It wasn't his fault.

The man stopped, and Sam lifted his head weakly. Renewed fear struck him in the heart, tearing at his stomach, twisting it into knots. His eyes were met with the sight of a syringe filled with a clear tan liquid before the man grabbed him by the actual face and dug it into the ground.

Sam started fighting again. He grunted as he pushed against his captor's incredible strength, not making any progress before he felt the sharp prick of the needle entering his neck. Panic took hold, and he thrashed more violently, managing to throw off the man's hand. Adrenaline flew through his veins, and he bent forward, ripping the man's hand that was holding the wire forward with as much force as possible, biting into the flesh.

The man yelped and let the wire go. Sam leapt into the air, booking it down the corridor. His ankle hurt like hell, but he could get out! He wasn't going to die! He'd see Colby and the others again, they wouldn't be sad.

He raced down hallway after hallway, but it all seemed to be the same exact thing. Same graffiti, same creepy noises, same debris littering the ground. Soon, it all started melting together. Like.. like a water color painting.

Sam fell forward, his face slapping agains the concrete loudly. His muscles and joints were stiff, paralyzed. He couldn't move, at all. Not even his jaw. Everything was blurred together, and started melting, forming all sorts of different shapes and things. He saw colors that he didn't even know existed. Pupils blown out of proportion, Sam lied there, motionless, until the man sauntered toward him. The pretty colorful images disappeared, replaced with darkness. He angled his eyes toward the pain he felt down in his ankle, momentarily having forgotten he had sprained it.

Oh god. He'd forgotten where he was.

What was he on?

The thoughts drifted away like leaves in the breeze, and he focused on the thin silhouette of the man. He was angry, why? The man was taking away his colors, his pretty shapes! His slack face managed to show some form of frustration.

His captor grabbed the shiny silver wire, and once more began pulling him. Mm, pulling. The colors resumed their show, engulfing the dark area around him. He didn't even notice his eyes closed, relishing in the shapes' beauty.

He was out in seconds.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dealing with the devil is a dangerous job.

The first thing Sam noticed was the smell. It was horrible, a rotting scent of urine, fecal matter, mud and dirt and a bunch of other disgusting things. It snaked it's way up his nostrils, digging into his brain like a pair of talons. It tore down his throat, tying his stomach into tight knots.

Sam's eyes snapped open, and he bent to the side, retching painfully. His most recent meal appeared in front of him, and he turned away, leaning against the wall.

The wall? He looked around, blinking weariness out of his eyes. He was in a very dirty and smelly room, cluttered with tons of garbage, but free of graffiti. The room was lit by a lamp in the corner, connected to a small battery and out of place in the environment. He moved to stand, but was held back by his left wrist-- oh god.

It all came flooding back to him. The attempt to explore the asylum, the trip wire, his sprained ankle. Colby running, urging him to follow. Disappearing out of sight.

Alone.

The man, his lifeless eyes, and the wire. Screaming until his voice didn't work, giving up. Accepting his fate.

Oh god.

Sam pulled at the chain wrapped tightly around his wrist, seeing it linked to the wall. He pulled and pulled and pulled, but it did not phase the chain. He was stripped of his phone, flashlight, belt, and wallet. He looked down at his ankle, and saw that it hadn't gotten any better. The wire was gone, and in it's place was a thick red line, various cuts and bruises decorating the red hot inflamed flesh. Sam swallowed nervously.

His blue eyes flicked back around the room. None of the debris was near him, it seemed. It looked like it had been cleared specifically so he couldn't reach it. There was a door in the far corner, the farthest away from him. There were two more chains on different sections of the walls, with-- blood. So much blood. Big pools of it stained in the concrete. The smell.

Sam's stomach did somersaults, and he only just managed not to puke again. His eyes were already starting to water from the reality of the situation. He looked back at the debris, seeing a broken wooden pole off a chair or something sticking out slightly from the out-of-reach circle the man had made. Maybe he could reach it?

He couldn't just sit there and do nothing.

He manuvered himself so that the chain was pulling incredibly hard at his wrist, the rest of his body splayed out like a starfish. He pushed a leg out, aiming for the stick. He felt the tip of it touch his foot, and he bit his lip in concentration.

He tried again, this time getting it to move a little bit more. Now, it was child's play. He kicked once, twice, _thrice_ , and then the stick got loose. He let out a sigh of relief.

The door swung open.

Sam, from his awkward position on the floor, stilled. His eyes were wide, and panic was already starting to grip his heart. He didn't move and shut his eyes, acted like he somehow fell asleep that way. Oh god. What was the man going to do?

A hand was on his shoulder. It gripped him tight, before pushing him back toward the wall. Sam still pretended he was sleeping, but inside he was more awake than he'd ever been. He heard the crisp sound of the stick being broken, before being tossed against another wall. Sam flinched at each noise, swallowing nervously.

It wasn't his mom, this was a psychopath. A killer. A fucking kidnapper. He would know that Sam wasn't asleep. And of course, he did, as told by the almost incomprehensible _open your eyes_ from the man, before Sam received a hard kick to the ribs. He yelped, something shifting in his chest, a gross chipping sound echoing throughout his very being. Needless to say, he was up before a second passed, clutching at his aching chest.

The man was scarier in the light. He looked like a walking corpse. His teeth - which he could see because of the mirror-shattering grin the man was wearing - were as yellow as cheese, with chips and blackened areas. His skin was pale and clammy, bits of stringy hair sticking to his oily scalp. His eyes were the darkest brown, almost black, and were sunken in, much like his cheeks. His nose was large, snot visible dripping downward. He was tight-lipped, and free of stubble. He was wearing baggy black clothing that hung off his frame like he was a hanger. Just the way he looked made Sam want to puke again.

"Who are your friends?" The man said, crouching down, voice gruff and hard to understand.

Sam sat there, staring blankly at his captor. "N-no one." He sputtered, voice still hoarse from all the screaming.

The man frowned, hands clenching into fists. Sam gulped. "Who are your friends?" He repeated more sternly.

Sam shook his head, not daring to make eye contact with the man. "We're j-just k-kids.." He murmured, voice wavering at the end. "We're no o-one." 

The man's frown turned into a scowl, knuckles turning white. He had a temper, great. "Okay. _Where_ are your friends?" He rephrased. He paused, a sly smile leaking onto his face. "And who's Colby?" Sam's face turned white, realizing that the man would've heard him shouting his best friend's name. 

Sam shook his head harder. He couldn't imagine what the man planned to do if he told him. Colby and the others.. "N-no.. p-please don't hurt them. P-please-" Th man abruptly stood, marching closer to Sam. Too close. He leaned down, putting his mouth near his ear, and Sam flattened himself against the wall. He could smell the man's disgusting breath hot on his neck.

"If you wanna play that way, fine." The man hissed, voice snake-like. Sam was shaking. The man brought his mouth away from Sam's ear, and then promptly stomped on his ankle. Sam screamed, old scabbed over cuts breaking open once more. His body went rigid as his captor stomped again, pushing harder and harder, like he was trying to grind it into the ground. Sam went to defend himself, hit the man, but his smaller hands were caught by the large, calloused ones, crushing his fingers together. "Where and who are your little friends?" He seethed evilly. 

Sam wouldn't give them up, never. He would endure anything his captor desired as long as they were safe. He shook his head in defiance, trying to appear confident, but the terror showed in his eyes. The man stomped again, and another scream tore from his lungs, followed by loud sobs and bountiful tears.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's one to trust and one to lose, discard that trust and they will choose.

Sam sat there. It was so quiet, a stark contrast to how it'd been more. No more screams, no more sobs, no more strangled begging. He was just there, now. Alone, sitting, body aching in any way it found.

Sam had never been tortured before. He always knew it was bad, but never expected it to happen. That was only in movies, right? No, it wasn't. His ankle had a small pool of blood formed around it, the swelling having gotten worse after the session. He couldn't move it without excruciating torment. He was starting to think of the possibility that he'd lose it. That the skin would start to die, and he'd be forced to go through a part of him rotting. He desperately hoped that didn't happen. His fingers were useless, sore and red, one on his left hand bent at an odd angle. He didn't even think of moving that, let alone touching it. It was almost purple in color!

Oh, and the bruises. He didn't have the strength to check, but he could tell there were lots on his chest already. Definitely one over his ribs, where he'd been kicked repeatedly.

Needless to say, everything hurt. Bad.

Sam shifted slightly, draping an arm over his torso, fingers stiff and unmoving. Despite his person feeling hot to the touch, he was so cold. He was shaking subtly, small tremors running through his body every other second. The thought erupted from his mind again-- _I'm going to die._

Sam shook his head, sniffling. He didn't want to die. He didn't know why he was so eager to at the start. If dying hurt this much, Sam didn't want to be anywhere near the possibility.

\--

Sam, who had fallen asleep against his better judgement, awoke to the noise of someone walking. One eye sluggishly opened, and he realized the noise was coming from above him. He pulled his head away from the wall, an uncomfortable feeling settled in his neck from the position. What _was_ that?

He leaned forward, back cracking. He looked around for the source of the noise. The footsteps. He listened as they got louder, closer. They weren't the man's, no. They were too light and quick for that, while his captor's were slow, unsure, and loud. This wasn't the man. Hope sprang up into his chest.

"Help..!" He called, voice like that of a smoker's and barely audible. He cleared his throat, letting out a few hoarse coughs before continuing. "Please help me, I'm right here, please!" He let honest desperation seep into his tone. The footsteps stopped, and silence rang for a few seconds. "Please." He added quickly.

The sound of scuffling echoed throughout Sam's little room, and suddenly a small piece of concrete was pushed from the wall. It hit the ground with a loud _thump._ There in the window-like hole, was a woman's round face. Brown hair stuck to her forehead from sweat, and she was shining a flashlight right in Sam's eyes. He blinked, shielding his face with his swollen fingers. 

"Woah," She started, eyes wide and frightened. "Are you okay?" Her mahogany eyes surveyed the room quickly. "What are you doing down here?"

Sam swallowed. "I was.. exploring this p-place. With my friends. And, we were running out, a-and I tripped, sprained my ankle," He glanced down at the disgusting sight of his poor poor ankle, "and someone got me. T-took me. P-put me down h-here-" He stopped, jangling the chain wrapped around his wrist. She gasped as she noticed it. "I can't w-walk. Please h-help me, call the p-police-"

He was cut off by the woman, her face lighting up in surprise and dread. "Wait, no," She started. "You're Sam Golbach, from Sam and Colby-" Halfway through her sentence, Sam spotted a shadow looming over her. He opened his mouth to warn her, tell her to run, but it was too late. The woman screamed, so loud it made Sam's ears ring. then, she fell through the hole, landing on the debris. She was motionless.

Sam spotted blood welling up on the back of her head, dripping down her tan neck. She was staring right at him, and he could see that there was no life in her eyes. That sparkle that was there before was gone. _She's dead._ His mind supplied him. 

Sam's eyes whipped back to the hole, which was already being covered by another cement block.

She was dead. _Dead._ He was staring at a dead woman.

Her camera, which he hadn't noticed before, had been broken. Her flashlight rolled across the concrete, still on, glass cracked. Sam was freaking out. His freedom had been dangled in front of him, and then ripped away like a cat with a toy.

Oh god. Footsteps. Heavy, unsure, slow.

Sam pulled on his chain, wrist already rubbed raw from earlier attempts. The footsteps grew louder, closer. He panicked, pupils just mere pinpricks.

The door creaked open, and there stood the man, holding a thick iron rod. He didn't even acknowledge Sam as he made his way toward the woman, holding the rod threateningly. He stopped by her head, staring down at her. Sam sat still, frozen to the spot, blue eyes trained on the woman.

The man lifted the bar, and then slammed down. Over and over, like she was a pinata. Blood splattered everywhere, speckling the walls and staining the floor. Sam watched silently, unable to take his eyes off the scene. Even from across the room, he felt blood spatter on his face. Suddenly, her head caved in, brains and veins exposed for the world to see. His stomach flipped inside his abdomen.

Sam puked.

\-- Time skip, sixteen hours before --

Sam was gone.

Colby sat in the driver's seat, parked outside a random McDonalds. He was holding his phone to his ear, listening to the automated message that played when someone's phone was dead, or broken, for the nineteenth time. Ricky and Nick were inside, getting the password to the wifi by buying something.

Sam was gone.

He called again, shaking fingers clicking on his best friend's name. The same robotic voice greeted him. He knew it would do no good, but he called again. And again. And again.

Nick and Ricky got back into the car. "Colby," Nick started, concern etched onto his features. "We didn't find Sam. He's probably playing some prank on you."

Ricky nodded, agreeing with his brother. "You guys have a prank war going on, right? Maybe he's taking it too far, but it's probably a prank." He swallowed, suddenly unsure. "He probably hired a girl to scream. You know. He'll turn up by tomorrow."

Colby felt irritation burn his skin. "No," he started, voice high and slightly hysterical. "Sam didn't _prank_ me. He.. he actually hurt his ankle. He tripped, you saw." He lowered his voice. "And those screams can't just be.. be done regularly. For a fucking prank." He tried to push the point.

Nick nodded, to himself, leaning back in the seat. "Yeah. I see your point." He responded quietly. 

"We searched the area, Colby. Sam's not there." Ricky replied gruffly, mirroring his brother. He sighed. "Just wait, he'll turn up."

\-- Time skip, present day --

Sam shivered on the ground, curled up as much as possible in his battered position. His shaking could almost be classified as violent. It was so cold. His sweatshirt, shirt, pants, and literally everything was soaked in ice-water that didn't seem to be warming up at all. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and watery blood dripped down his face.

He'd taken a beating. Another one. It was terrible, worse than before. He couldn't move, if trembling wasn't counted as moving. He was crying, almost silently, but a few stray sobs rattled his chest every few minutes.

He had heard his ribs break, felt his skin cutting open, listened to the dull thud as fists and feet hit his face and torso. Endured a heavy iron rod being slammed on his inflamed, sprained ankle. Sam couldn't even see out of his right eye. The skin around had swollen, probably turning an ugly purple. It also radiated heat. 

Needless to say, everything hurt. 

Sam wished he could sleep. He wished unconsciousness would take over, relieve him of his pain. Maybe put him in a nice dream. But, he could not. How could he, with everything on his mind?

He'd just given up Colby. His best friend, the only person he knew would never do anything to harm him, was now on the hit-list of a fucking serial killer. Great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the continuity errors, I write these when I'm running on caffeine.. 
> 
> Other things to note:  
> \- Sam's girlfriend doesn't really exist in this universe.  
> \- I know nothing about Ricky and Nick's personalities outside of the Asylum video, so be warned.  
> \- I've made Ricky the asshole brother, and that's probably wrong  
> \- I am not a medical professional and do not know how much a human body can take, so everything's going to be very inaccurate.  
> \- My creative..ness is dimming (??) so I might take a break from this  
> \- Sorry for errors in general. As I've stated before, I write this when I'm tired and when my eyes really want to shut


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deliver me from the devil, or I'll have to give up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't read this chapter if you get triggered easily. There's going to be some graphic imagery. Now, I don't write anything sexual and never will, so it won't be that bad, but the after part will have some descriptive bits. Viewer (or reader, I guess) discretion advised.

It had been months, Sam was sure of it. Time seemed endless in that dark, disgusting, and desolate place, but he knew a fabricated eternity from a real one. He'd been chained to a wall, beaten into unconsciousness, and almost starved to death for at least two months straight.

He had lost hope. After he'd given up who Colby was, and their channel, the man had left for several days, leaving Sam to go almost insane at how quiet it was. He had heard footsteps from above, but refused to call out for help just in case they'd end up dead like that poor girl. He didn't want anyone else's death to be because of him.

When the man returned, he was angry, and hit Sam with a burning hot iron rod over and over and over. When he was done, and Sam was almost unconscious, he had leaned in close and whispered in Sam's ear, voice shaking with rage. _Your friend is dead._ He had seethed. _Stop fighting._

Of course, Sam had stopped fighting after that. Let it all come to him. Grief was a rough thing, and every part of Sam was mourning his best friend. His death was his fault. Sam had given up totally and completely. The man's schedule had changed after that, more and more torture sessions being bestowed upon Sam. That's why he was surprised when the man came in empty handed.

Sam blinked out of his working eye, the other swollen and black. He cocked his head slightly in confusion, even that movement sending a sharp ache throughout his body. He sucked in a breath as the man got closer, pushing himself against the concrete wall. He scanned the man, and so nothing that could harm him other than his captor's own hands and feet, but that didn't seem to be his style anymore.

Sam braced himself, closing his eyes and thinking of possibilities, but then felt someone sit down next to him. He stiffened, scooting away slightly, working eye going wide, not daring to look to his right. He heard the sound of clinking-- what was that?

And then, all of a sudden, the man was on top of him, Sam taking in a shaky breath. The man's hands were pushing down on his wrists, knees on his thighs. He couldn't move, or even try to fight back. The man pulled off his already undone belt, and Sam realized what was about to happen.

Everything in his body screamed at him. He struggled, breathing speeding up and becoming more unstable. The man's hand traveled to the waistband of Sam's jeans, fingers sliding in between skin and fabric. Sam bucked, giving it his all to escape.

The man undid his buttons, and slid the denim down Sam's legs. "HELP!" Sam shouted, his voice completely foreign to him are disuse for so long. "SOMEONE FUCKING HELP ME! PLE-"

He was cut off by the man's chapped lips connecting with his own. A tongue tried to wiggle it's way through, but Sam shouted incomprehensibly, whipping his head to the side, shaking it quickly. Tears welled up in his eyes, and some dripped down his cut up cheek. "PLEASE, GOD! SOMEONE, ANYONE, HELP!"

Sam scratched and kicked as he was flipped onto his stomach, pushed forcefully into the floor. The man pulled down his boxers. He couldn't breath, couldn't see, couldn't think. Everything was blurry, colors blending together like watercolor paints.

\--

Everything was numb.

Useless thoughts raced through Sam's head, keeping his mind away from what happened. Kept him at bay.

 _Why am I alive?_ He thought. _Why wasn't I killed like everyone else? Why me?_

It hurt to think, to stay awake, but he did. It swallowed up the pain from his hips and hid it from sight.

 _Why can't I just die?_ Sam bit down on his lip, hard, drawing blood. _Please let me die. I can't live anymore._

Darkness ate at the edges of his vision, and Sam urged it to go. He knew what he'd dream about if he let it take him. _There's nothing to live for anymore._

Sam didn't want to be found, he realized. It wouldn't be the same. It would never be the same, not after everything.

Not without Colby.

He wanted to die. He wanted it so badly, too much. He wanted to be gone, to be lifted off to a better place. A happier place, where he could see Colby again. His best friend.

Colby was dead because of Sam, and that girl was too. He didn't deserve to go to heaven.

He lied there, unmoving, still as a corpse. The door opened, and the man walked in. 

Sam didn't move. Just lied there, staring forward, spark lost out of his eyes. Hope diminished.

A pristine glass cup of water was placed just in his reach, as well as dog food. What he'd been eating before.

He stayed still. There was no reason to eat, to drink, to sleep, or to even think anymore. He was going to die. He _wanted_ to die.

The man left.

\--

Sam hadn't moved an inch. he stared at the water, seeing how the lamp light reflected in the clear but blurry substance. It morphed reality, and lit up like Christmas lights at the smallest little glow. Before, Sam had found solace in it's simple beauty. Now, however, all he saw was useless detail. Why should it look like that, when it was destined to be drank, destined to be destroyed?

Some time passed. Sam didn't care to count. His whole body was numb, and his stomach rumbled, but he still didn't move. The dull ache present in his back was starting to recede, but Sam would never forget how it felt. He would always feel the pain, even when it was gone. It was engraved in him now.

Sam felt flies landing near his wounds. Small ones, but they would grow up soon. Get larger, start to bite. Maybe lay eggs. Their maggots would hatch, and feast on his rotting flesh, wriggle through his skin and eat him alive. Sam would let them.

There was no point.

He was going to die.

He wanted to die.

\--

Sam moved for the first time in what felt like days. His muscles were stiff and didn't want to cooperate, but he pushed them anyways. He grabbed the glass of water, and shakily brought it closer to him.

He smashed it on the ground.

Cool water splashed on Sam's dirty skin, and he moved his head toward it. It felt good against his face.

He reached out with his other hand, fingers wrapping around the largest piece of glass. The sides sliced as he grasped it harder, feeling the blood run down his palm. He stared blankly at the crimson liquid, before bring the shard up to his neck.

With a swift flick, the tip tore through his skin. Blood poured out of the wound, soaking the ground and mixing with the water. The scent of iron filled Sam's nose, and he couldn't breath. Something bubbled up into his mouth, and soon he was coughing, wheezing and shaking as he tried to breath. He couldn't. Monsters crept around his eyes, blocking his view. Shapes, figures, silhouettes. _Colby._

His best friend stood there, watching him as he sputtered. Eyes pitiful, face unreadable.

 _I'm sorry,_ Sam tried to say, but all that came out was a struggled cough, splattering more blood onto the ground, on Colby's shoes. _I'm so sorry._

\--

Sam woke up, breathing hard. He was moving again, but only out of shock. A hand went up to his neck, rubbing against the skin, looking for the fatal cut. Nothing was there.

He exhaled shakily, letting himself fall back against the ground. The water still sat there, glass unbroken. He looked at his hand. The only wound was his two broken pinky and ring fingers, no slices made from shattered glass.

He was fine.

For once in a long time, Sam was glad he wasn't dead.

He decided to move positions, doing his best to ignore the ache from his hips, his back. His lips were chapped, and his throat felt like sandpaper. He leaned over, grabbing the cup of the now dust-filled water and drank it. Slowly, of course, he didn't want to puke.

He set the glass down, careful not to let it break. His stomach growled, but he ignored it. He eyed the colorful bits in the metal bowl. He wasn't a dog, he wouldn't eat that. He didn't need food.

His stomach growled again, despite his attempts to convince it he wasn't hungry. 

Oh, god.

Before he knew it, tears fell from his eyes. He wasn't sobbing this time, no. It was quiet, just tears, slow building ones. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, ignoring the throb of discomfort and stinging as he did so. He shoved his face down, letting loose.

He didn't want to die.

He wanted to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's short, but I wanted to put this little thing in here, because I don't like writing about this kind of stuff and wanted to get it out of the way. This is like the breaking point for Sam.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you.

The chain had broken.

Sam was half-asleep when it happened. He'd been lying on his side, nose angled away from the smelly floor. Eyes almost all the way closed, even his swollen one cracked open a bit.

He'd seen the door open, saw the silhouette of the man. Sam didn't move, per say, but he stiffened, for good reason. Watched warily while pretending to actually be sleeping.

The man had sauntered over, dull orbs trained on Sam's chain. He stopped by his legs, and Sam had to keep himself from crossing them. He'd leaned down, placed one hand on the part where the metal connected to the wall. Pulled out the little insert.

Sam was confused. Terribly and utterly confused. He resisted the urge to jump up and speed away, waiting until he heard the man leave. Sam sat up, picking up the chain quietly off the floor. It was still connected to his wrist, clotted blood slightly fused with the metal due to the rubbing. It wouldn't be coming off, but he didn't care about that. The other end was disconnected. He was free.

Sam waited a few seconds before standing up, wobbling unsteadily on his ruined ankle. He limped forward, clutching his broken chest and biting back a hiss of pain that desperately wanted to erupt out of his mouth. He put his ear against the door, listening carefully, waiting for the familiar sound of heavy footsteps to throw him back onto his spot on the floor.

They didn't come. Sam bit his lip, gray-blue eyes wide. He slid his hand down, wrapping his non-broken fingers around the cool metal handle. He turned it slowly, and it opened.

Sam's frowned at the stairs he saw, half terrified he'd be halfway up them and the man would appear at the top. he shook his head-- he couldn't hesitate, this was his chance. As far as he knew, his only chance.

He hurried his way up the stairs, biting harder and harder into his lip to suppress the noises of pain. He wished his ankle would've healed, but his captor did his best to make sure it didn't. Maybe to ensure that he couldn't escape.

Doubt flickered in Sam's mind as he reached the top. He opened the second door, cringing at the shrill squeaking noise it made. He scanned the area in front of him, and almost sighed in relief at the sight of no scary-looking dude waiting for him.

Sam zeroed in on the next door, hobbling over to it. This one had a knob, not a handle. He turned it, and the handle even squeaked. But, as it slid open, daylight crept in.

The first time Sam had seen the sun in who knows how long. It hurt his eyes. He brought up a hand to cover them, before booking it in the general direction of forward.

Entering the forest, Sam had flashbacks. When he was traversing it with Colby, Nick, and Ricky, scoping out the asylum for a way in without alerting the security. Hiding in the bushes when they saw other people, laughing at their own stupidity.

Sam's chest heaved, and he started to sprint. Each time his left foot hit the ground his whole body jolted, screaming at him to stop, but he kept on it. He wasn't going to let some stupid ankle stop him now, not when he was this close.

After what seemed like an eternity, the parking lot where they had parked came into view. Sam's heart seemed to flutter as he saw it. Two cars sat in it, one new, and one old and rusty.

Something clicked in Sam's mind. That car.. it hadn't moved.

It had been there when Sam and Colby first arrived.

That was the man's car.

\--

In the driver's seat, Sam bent down, cursing quietly as he hotwired the car. He'd done it five times before, all in different situations, none of which were illegal. He'd gotten permission from their owners (mostly his roommates) to do so, and succeeded three out of the fives times. 

He really hoped it would work now.

As if on cue, the car's engine started up. The gentle vibration of the car was enough to soothe Sam to sleep after all he'd been through. 

He looked up from the wires, putting it in drive and placing his foot on the gas pedal. Then, he froze. There, standing at the edge of the woods, was the man. His eyes were emotionless, face unreadable. His skin was pearly white and thick sweat seemed to pour down it. Most of his hair was gone, small strands stuck to his scalp. In his hand was a knife. He looked like a corpse.

Sam's heart skipped a beat as his captor rushed forward, screaming unintelligibly. Sam took a sharp turn out of the lot, hitting the man and sending him flying backwards. Blood spattered all over the pavement, and Sam shuddered. He didn't look back as he pulled out onto the highway.

Sam drove down the desolate road, heading for the nearest gas station. It wasn't a chain one, and he'd seen it on those signs that tell you where restaurants and rest stops were. His hands shook on the wheel, and he couldn't believe he was free. It was like he was expecting it all to be a dream.

The gas station came into sight. For one on some random road, it looked pretty pristine. He turned into the parking lot, seeing all the other cars parked. Some people were getting gas, smiles on their cheery faces.

His heart swelled with happiness. He was free. _He was free_. The statement repeated over and over in his head, and his pain faded away in the euphoria. Then, he remembered that his best friend was dead, and that happiness dimmed a bit. But not all the way. He would mourn Colby all over again, and he'd visit his grave every week. He'd still get to be reunited with his other roommates. 

Sam turned the car off. The people around looked nice enough. He'd ditch the car and ask one of them to drive him to his house when he was done.

He hopped out and shut the door softly, before limping toward the entrance. Some of the people gave him some odd looks, and he didn't blame them. Hobbling on one leg, clothing basically ripped to shreds and covered with all kinds of stains, his messed up face. He just hoped they didn't judge him for it.

He entered the gas station, taking a deep breath of the filtered air. It smelled great. So.. gas station-y. He walked up to the counter. There stood a young woman, texting on her phone, not looking up.

"Are there showers here?" Sam asked politely, cringing inwardly at the sound of his voice. It was so gross. Unrealistic. He sounded basically the same as before, but more hoarse. It should've sounded different.

The girl didn't even look up. She pointed with one purple claw-tipped finger to a door at the back of the aisles. "Back there." She answered monotonously, smacking her gum obnoxiously. 

Sam nodded, before heading towards it. He walked through the aisles, eyes childlike as he scanned the items. He wanted to steal something, super bad. The urge was almost irresistible. He didn't, though. He had enough self-control.

His grimy hand met with the shiny silver handle, and he turned it slowly. No creaking or squeaking answered him as he pushed it open, revealing a small bathroom with a shower head sticking out of the wall in the corner. Sam smiled, shutting the door and locking it behind him.

\--

The water ran down his back, scorching hot but somehow still theraputic. He let out a long sigh, ruffling his hair, feeling the dirt and blood chip away and run down the drain. There was no soap, so a rinse would have to do. He sat on the ground, legs crossed, hugging himself and washing his cuts. The water felt so good, but it stung his wounds. Sam supposed that sting was them getting cleaned, so he stayed through it.

Shutting off the water, Sam smiled. An honest to god smile. He couldn't remember the last time he'd done that. The grin widened as he slipped on his wet less dirty torn up clothing, finally feeling clean. He walked over to the mirror, wiping off the large water droplets hanging onto it.

Wow. He looked horrible. 

His hair was somehow the same length, and he only had a little stubble. His black eye was still prominent, and the various cuts across his face contrasted his pale skin. One on both cheekbones, One above his right eye, one across the bride of his nose, one on his forehead.. oh, and that little scar on his chin. Colorful bruises also littered his face, mostly around the cuts closest to bone, and that pesky swollen eye. His clothes hung off him, and his cheeks were sunken in. There was a reddish brown line under his eyes, from lack of sleep and constant crying.

His sweatshirt and shirt were torn up worse than his jeans, showcasing his light-colored skin beneath. Some of them were already scars, others were fresh. Actually, lots were fresh. Blood still dripped out of a few because of the shower. You could also make out a couple green and purple bruises.

He'd been through a lot. It was shocking to be able to talk about it in past tense, and Sam's smile grew impossibly large.

He walked out of the bathroom.

\--

He sat on the curb, looking for anyone who looked sympathetic enough. He was starting to give up when he saw her-- a middle aged woman with a small child. She was walking out of the gas station, carrying way too much. As expected, she dropped it, her child having tugged on her hand too hard. 

Sam jumped up, quickly limping toward her. He slowed down as he neared her. "Do you need any help?" He asked politely, eyes opened innocently. She looked over at him, surprise by his sudden appearance. Her eyes scanned his body, a frown forming on her face at his state.

She blinked and looked away. Sam guessed she decided not to pry. "Yes, in fact, I do." She replied slowly, her voice high. Her toddler pulled on her sleeve. "Could you, um, carry that please?" 

Sam nodded, leaning down to pick up her bags. They were filled with perfect road-trip essentials for the pair-- snacks, paper towels, a kids toy, and a couple crossword puzzle books. She led him toward her car, a shiny gray van with little orange and black decals on the side. She let her kid in the seat, before heading back to him and opening the trunk. Sam set the two bags in.

"Thank you so much." She said, shutting the trunk. Without looking at him again, she started to head toward the driver's seat.

"Wait-" Sam started, jumping forward. his ankle throbbed. She looked back, eyes wide. "I-- I need help. Could you drive me to my house?" He paused, trying to think of a believable cover story. "Um, we were camping and I fell off a steep hill, got pretty beat up, but they refused to pack up camp. They told me to stay here while they drove back to the house and got supplies to fix me." He cleared his throat. "Their car won't start to get back, and I have no way there."

She blinked, sympathy showing in her brown eyes. "Please." Sam added, letting true desperation leak into his voice.

She paused, thinking over the situation, before she looked back up at him. "Okay. Give me the address." She inhaled sharply. "And don't do anything to my kid, or else."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why think of the future, or listen to the past, when you should focus on the now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first, this was going to be the reunion chapter, but I realized that the Forest Haven asylum is really far away from California, so it wouldn't make sense if Sam gets there in one chapter. So, be ready for some road trip chapters and fans recognizing Sam!
> 
>  
> 
> ps: I don't know how far one public bus can go, and google didn't give me any info, so it's probably going to be inaccurate

It started raining.

Sam sat in the front seat, arms curled protectively around his chest. His eyes were wide as stared out the window, processing the rapidly passing land. The houses, the businesses, the billboards. The greens of grass and the graying sky. He watched as the rain splattered on the cars parallel to them, running it think rivulets down the windshields. He was transfixed by how the headlights of the car cut through the rain, and how water spurted from under their wheels.

Everything was so beautiful. How had he never seen it before?

Maryland was very different from California. It was.. weird. Unfamiliar places were hard to describe. It was cooler there, and it's air was more fresh. There were more trees, too, and less people. From the ones he saw on the street, he concluded that their clothing styles were much different. Cozier, with warmer colors. Lots of soft-looking sweaters.

Despite everything, Sam felt displaced. He didn't know exactly how long he'd been gone, and it made him feel disconnected.

He turned his head, attention focused now on the blonde woman. "What's the date?" He asked politely, keeping his voice smooth.

She didn't take her eyes off the road. "Uh," She started, blinking, hands flexing on the wheel as she attempted to remember. "It's the 21st, of April." She answered simply.

The kid in the back kicked Sam's seat, hard, and Sam was pushed forward a bit. "It's my birthday!" He shouted obnoxiously, words kind of pushed together in that childlike way.

Sam nodded. "Happy birthday." He commented distantly, leaning back in his seat, a frown settling on his face. His vision seemed to cloud up, too. April 21st. That was.. that was seven months since he arrived as the asylum. Seven months. Wow. That was a long time. 

Sam hugged himself tighter, rubbing his sides. He wondered if people even thought he was alive.

He wondered what they thought of Colby. 

Sam felt himself tearing up. He let go of his torso, bringing his hands up to wipe at his eyes. It had set in again, the reality of everything. Colby was dead, and it was his fault. His best friend.

Sam shook his head, taking in a deep breath. He leaned against the window, letting himself breathe, the window fogging up at each exhale. No, there was nothing he could do about it. He was being tortured, for god's sake. It wasn't his fault. He knew he shouldn't take the blame, but he couldn't help himself.

Colby was dead because of him.

He was snapped out of his guilt at the woman's words. he hadn't even noticed they stopped driving. "This isn't a house." She said, voice suspicious. She eyed him, seeing his reddening cheeks and shiny eyes. 

"Y-yeah, it isn't." He answered quietly, opening the car door. The sound of casual chatter greeted his ears. "It's a bus stop. Thanks for driving me, I owe you my life, basically." He smiled, rubbing his eyes, making sure there was no sort of tears left. And then, it hit him-- he didn't have any money. He couldn't get a ticket. 

The woman's curious eyes bored into him. "You're welcome." She answered confusedly.

Sam cursed under his breath. "Um, I know you've already done a lot for me, a stranger," He started, taking in yet another deep breath. "But.. I just really need to get someplace. And I don't have money, and I need a bus ticket.."

The lady sighed. "You seem like a nice kid going through some hard times." She answered, grabbing her purse from the glove box. "How much do you need?" She asked sympathetically. 

Sam's smile flattened into a frown. "I don't know." He bit his lip, shutting the door of the car. "How much would it take to get to California?"

\--

Sam did not like Indiana.

It had been ten days since the nicest woman on planet Earth gifted him two hundred dollars. After a ton of sweaty bus rides, he'd made it not even a quarter of the way to California. To make it worse, some of his larger cuts had started bleeding again because of running, from him almost missing three consecutive buses. Sam couldn't find any public showers, so let's just say he didn't smell the best.

Being in Indiana didn't help. Summer heat rained down from everywhere, and it was so humid. Sam was sweating terribly, and he really needed to find a shower. He ran down the sidewalk, the dull throb of his ankle hidden in the back of his mind. He pushed past people, muttering apologies as he did so. He didn't have a time-keeping device, but he was almost one hundred percent sure he was really late for his next bus.

As he ran, something caught his eye. He stopped, almost falling over, shoes skidding on the pavement. He narrowed his eyes, searching, and saw it-- the phone camera, peeking over a small little wall near a park. Two teenage girls peeked over, their camera and heads hiding behind the wall as they noticed him staring. 

Sam's mouth opened, but he couldn't say anything. That was weird.. really weird. But, as he heard his bus's noise of taking of, be booked it toward the thing, barely making it through the doors before it took off.

\--

What. 

What.

_What._

Colby's eyes were wide as he stared at his phone. Millions of twitter and instagram notifications took up his lock screen, and more came in every second. The annoying noise of birds tweeting made him wanted to rip his ears off.

However, the subject of those notifications spiked his interest. He grabbed his phone off the desk, clicking on the first notification, an instagram one. A fan account had tagged him in a photo. Now, he usually didn't really look at those, he liked some sometimes. But now he was looking at one. It was a video with the caption "Is this actually Sam??? Tag Colby in the comments so he can see this!!", and then a bunch of tags.

Colby waited impatiently for the video to load, now sitting on his bed, feet tapping nervously. _You shouldn't be expecting anything._ He told himself, eyes tearing into the stupid little buffering thing in the corner of the video. _it's probably just some young guy with blonde hair._

The video finally stopped being stupid. Colby noted that the quality was pretty good. Whoever had filmed it was sitting behind some short stone wall, the recording device poking over it. There, entering the frame, was a blonde guy. He was running. He had stopped, though. His clothes were torn to almost complete shreds. He was wearing a black shirt and black jeans. Both had lots of tears in them. His face was covered in cuts and bruises, one eye narrowed from a healing black eye. He stood there for a moment, before turning, staring straight at the camera. Those blue eyes.

Colby immediately recognized him. It was _Sam._

His breath hitched, and he shouted, "AARON!" Aaron was the only one in the house other than him at the moment, and he needed someone to see this. To share his.. his _excitement_. Relief.

"What?" Aaron called back, his voice almost inaudible. He sounded like he'd been sleeping. Colby stood, walking out of his room, glancing at Sam's room across from his, a deep sad feeling erupting in his chest, but it was replaced with happiness as his brain reminded him of what he'd just watched. He traversed the house, running into a shirtless Aaron in the hallway. "What's up, Colby?" He asked, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

"Just-- just look." Colby answered quickly, his voice wavering at the end. He basically shoved the phone in Aaron's face. His roommate fumbled with it, almost dropping it, before maintaining a grip on it. His sleepy eyes focused on the screen. 

"It's off." He mumbled.

Colby inhaled sharply, snatching the phone back and inserting his passcode. He brought it back on the video and then flipped the phone toward Aaron, right in front of his face. He heard the people who were filming it talking quietly, incomprehensible. 

"Is that.. is that Sam?" Aaron asked, voice heightening in disbelief. The video played again, and Aaron brought the phone closer to his face, watching closely. Then, his eyes widened. "That _is_ Sam. Oh my god. That's fucking Sam." 

Colby nodded quickly. "Yes, that's Sam. That's actually Sam, Aaron. It's Sam." He smiled, voice shaking unsteadily. "He's alive, Aaron. He's not dead. He's.. he's not okay, but he's alive. He's alive. He's alive." Colby turned, squeezing his phone, hands shaking. Sam was alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still pretty sure I can't get the other guy's personalities right. 
> 
> Also, as you might've noticed, Colby's not dead. Sam's captor couldn't find a way to get all the way to California without starving his pet, so he just told Sam that his friend was dead. It was easier to mess with him that way. You know, psychopath things.


	7. Chapter 7

"No," Sam whispered, pushing himself against the concrete wall. "Please, please don't-" The man came closer, empty eyes tearing into Sam's blue ones. He struggled to get away, ripping and pulling at the metal secured around his wrist, blood welling up around the chains. 

A steel-toed boot was slammed against Sam's stomach, and he was thrown against the wall. He curled up in a defensive position, another kick crashing into his side, and then another, and then another. Blood rushed up Sam's throat, the tangy taste making him gag. It splattered against the ground as he coughed, catching on his hands as he clawed at his face. The blows kept coming, harder. Unconsciousness threatened to take him.

Then, they stopped. Sam lied there, blood dripping down his chin in thick streams, sobs tearing from his mouth. He felt everything in his abdomen shifting, broken bits scraping against his skin. He could feel bruises forming, their deep purples and greens smearing against his chest. 

Then, the foot collided with his head.

\--

Sam woke up, breathing ruggedly. His eyes were as wide as dinner plates, and his chest heaved. The bus's plastic seat was cold against his sweaty face. He sat up slowly, limbs shaking as his brain processed his nightmare.

He worried checked his surrounding area, expecting to see the man standing there, ready to take him back, but was only met with the backs of regular people minding their own business. He breathed out a sigh of relief, before collapsing back against the seat, hugging himself, legs pulled up to his chest. It wasn't his stop yet, he had more time to sleep.

\--

His stomach growled.

Sam walked along the streets of Iowa. He'd gotten pretty far, and he was happy about that, but he was running out of money, and he couldn't go any further without more. A meager two dollars and six cents sat in his back pocket, not enough to buy another ticket to someplace, or to buy any food. Sam had found some public showers, too, but they cost three dollars to use, and he didn't have enough money. 

He had met a dead end, and he didn't know what to do. He was terribly hungry, and stuck in some town in Iowa that he didn't even care to figure out the name of. _Where's Iowa, again?_ He thought, a little map of the United States popping up in his mind. He tried to pinpoint Iowa, but couldn't remember. _I should've payed more attention in Social Studies.._ Sam stopped, flexing his fingers against his jean pockets, frowning. He looked around at everything, the people, the businesses. Then, he turned, making his way down another path. He stared at his shoes as he went. They were ratty, the laces unable to be tied, his dirty socks peeking out the fronts. 

He looked up, making out a small park in the distance. Maybe they had a fountain, and he could get some spare change. He started jogging, a twinge of discomfort coming from his healing ankle, but he kept on. People turned there heads, eyes following him as he made his way. He was getting used to the weird stares.

" _SAM!_ " Someone screamed. Sam stopped, destroyed shoes skidding against the pavement, back going rigid and eyes going wide at his name. He looked behind him for a split second, before taking off in a sprint. _That was the man._ His tortured mind supplied him, turning the guy that had actually called his name into the subject of his nightmares. He ran faster, buildings and people around him blurring together, like watercolor paints. _He's coming back for you. He's going to bring you back._ Sam didn't know why he was running. He knew that it wasn't the man chasing him, but he kept seeing it that way. His heart hammered against his chest as he turned a sharp corner, his sprained ankle bending and sending him sprawling on the concrete. 

Sam pushed himself off the road, whole right side stinging from being scraped against the ground. He ran out of the way of a car, veering back onto the sidewalk. He heard another shout. This time they said his full name.

His brain supplied him with visions of the man, and the long, horrendous beatings he had endured. He ran faster, tears making their way into his eyes, threatening to spill. He was so scared, too scared. His entire body shook as he ran, and he couldn't seem to breathe.

Oh god, he couldn't breathe.

Sam turned again, this time into a little alley in between rows of houses. He sprinted down the dirt road, before throwing himself on the ground, hidden next to a shrub and a shed. He hugged himself tightly, feeling as though he was going to vomit. Every cut, scrape, and bruise on his body ached terribly, some reopened, thick blood dripping down his side. 

Sam cupped his face with his hands, feeling how hot his cheeks were, and the liquid that dripped slowly down them. He tried to be quiet with his crying, but he couldn't seem to get a handle on it. It was hard to breathe, almost impossible, and Sam found himself gasping for breath. Darkness ate at the sides of his vision, urging him to fall asleep. He was so tired, so sick of running and not having someplace to sleep. He missed his friends, and he wanted to go home. He couldn't stand the pain anymore, so, he let go, rolling onto his side and curling up into the foliage. He let himself cool down, sobs turning into gentle whimpers as he let unconsciousness take him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a short one, and the next will be longer! I can't seem to think of any creative ways to make money if you're pretty homeless, like Sam is at the moment, so the next chapter might take longer. I'm not sure if I should have Colby go after Sam.. but it feels like something Colby would do.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Ellie (guest), a person that keeps me writing this fic. 
> 
> Slight reunion in this chapter!

Sam awoke to talking. He was still lying next to the shed, and the sky was dark, cloudless and dotted with small stars.He pulled himself off the ground, cringing at the rustling noises the shrub made. He peeked over the side of the shed, eyes sleepily narrowed as he made out the shapes. Two silhouettes, one male, one female. They were walking slowly, inspecting the area around them, whispering quietly to each other. It was impossible to tell what they were saying over the loud sound of crickets.

Sam shifted, and mentally cursed at himself when a small little twig broke under his thigh. He inhaled sharply, freezing in place like a deer in headlights. The pair stopped, the man putting his arm out in front of the woman, halting her. They stood still, trying to find the source of the noise.

Sam tore his eyes away from the sight, back pressed against the thin metal of the shed. He breathed slowly, one hand over his mouth to try and muffle the noise it created. He closed his eyes, praying to whatever was out there that he wouldn't be found.

Of course, nothing ever seemed to go Sam's way.

"Sam?" A masculine voice called, and Sam opened his eyes. there was a light, a flashlight, shining next to the shed. They'd yet to have found him. "Sam, is that you?"

Sam let out a shaky exhale, slowly bringing his hand down to his side. His breath hitched as a shiver ran through him. It was a cold night for summer. _No,_ He thought, hands clenching into fists. _It's not me. Just leave._

Honestly, Sam didn't know why he didn't want to be found. He was very anxious about hospitals and news coverage. He didn't want to be found by some random fan. He wanted to go home, to see Colby, Aaron, Corey, Elton.. heck, Devyn too. Everyone. He wanted to lay in his bed, get pranked, edit videos until three am. He missed everything so much, and he just wanted familiarity. Familiar or not, nothing would be good without Colby.

Sam shook his head, shoving his face into his hands, trying to muffle the sniffling. He was such a baby, never could stop crying. He went from crying to wandering aimlessly to sleeping. There was no in between. Suddenly, light swept over him, the flashlight blinding him for a second. He covered his eyes, spine going rigid. He had been found.

"Sam-" The same voice sounding from in front of him. It was familiar, very familiar. Why hadn't he noticed before? "Sam, oh god, are you okay?" 

Sam looked up and was met with Corey's worried face. _Corey._

\--

Corey and Devyn walked side by side, fingers curled together as they turned into the little alley. They rarely spoke, sometimes muttering little tidbits of information to each other, but were mostly quiet. Observing.

Earlier that day, Corey had seen Sam. He was sure of it- his friend had seen him, though, and still ran. Ran like Corey was going to do something to him. Him and Devyn had talked about that for awhile, and they couldn't come up with anything to make sense of it. Why would he run, when he had seen one of his friends? After being missing for seven months, Corey would've been ecstatic to be back and to see everyone. That's what made him, and Devyn, so confused.

They had gotten dinner, sitting in their hotel room as they tried to figure out where Sam would go, because they needed to find him, and help him. When the couple finished, they had decided to search the dark nooks and crannies of the Iowan city. Someone trying to hide would go into the corners of places to evade people, it was common sense, and a good place to start.

Still, as Corey walked down the dirt path, hand in hand with Devyn, his head swirled with thousands of thoughts. Where had Sam gone for seven, going on eight months? Why was he running? What happened to his face, why did he lose so much weight, why was he still in the same pair of clothes he went missing in? It hurt to think about. Sam was like his brother, and it pained him to think of what happened to Sam after all that time.

Devyn was about to say something when a twig cracked, loud enough for it not to be some random animal in the foliage. Corey sent out a hand, stopping Devyn, who had been about to investigate. Everything was silent, save for the low clicks of crickets, and.. wait. _What's that?_

Corey nodded to where he thought the noise was coming from. Devyn reached down to Corey's pocket, taking out their small flashlight and clicking it on. The white light streamed through the night air, dust floating through the beam. Corey walked forward, concentrating on hearing whatever that noise was. Then, he could make it out. _Sniffling._

"Sam? Sam, is that you?"

Corey crouched down slightly, rounding the corner of a small metal shed, and then he saw him. Sam, sitting against the wall, half buried in a shrub. He was holding his face, crying almost silently. Cuts and scars decorated his formerly clear skin, bruises splashing against his pale tone. He was so skinny, too. His cheekbones jutted out, eyes sunken in, waist like a toothpick. Corey's eyes widened, noting how Sam was visibly shivering, and how his clothing wasn't really keeping him warm.

"Sam-" Corey breathed, motioning for Devyn to join him. "Sam, oh god, are you okay?" Sam removed his hands from his face, blinking up at Corey confusedly. He wiped the tears away, fingers trembling. He tried to force them still.

Sam cleared his throat, glancing at the ground. "Hi." He said simply, one side of his mouth curling up in a smirk. He looked back up, making eye contact with Corey. Then, suddenly, Sam stood, wrapping his arms around Corey and squeezing. 

Soon, Corey found that Sam was sobbing, quite loudly. His thin body shook as he clung to his friend, face buried in his shoulder. Devyn came over, watching with concerned eyes, holding the flashlight idle.

"I've missed you s-so much.." Sam choked out in between sobs. "It's been horrible.." 

Corey hugged Sam back, confused and saddened. He took in a deep breath, feeling his own eyes start to water. "I can imagine."

\--

Corey started up the car. Devyn sat in the passenger seat, twiddling her thumbs nervously. She threw glances at Corey, then back to Sam, who had felt the soft seats and promptly fell asleep. He was curled up, almost in fetal position. It was unusual, not like Sam used to sleep, Corey knew. He'd done enough morning pranks to know that Sam took up all the space he could get.

"This is crazy." Devyn said, breaking the silence, leaning against her seat. "I can't believe we found Sam. He's been missing for almost eight months, and then we just find him." She rambled.

Corey nodded, turning out of the convenience store parking lot and onto the road. "Yes." He vaguely answered, feeling useless. "It's good that we did." He took his eyes of the road to look at the rearview mirror, seeing Sam's still body. He swallowed nervously. "Uh.. what do you think happened?"

Devyn didn't answer right away. She was focused on the cars' headlights ahead, seemingly unsure of her answer. She sighed. "I don't know." She replied slowly, enunciating each word. "Something bad, that's for sure. I mean, look at him." She shuddered, remembering how nice Sam always was to her, and how much of a good person in general he was. Whatever had happened, he probably didn't deserve it.

Corey rubbed his right eye with one hand, feeling tired. He placed it back on the wheel, movements sluggish. "Yeah." He murmured quietly, in silent agreement. He shifted, a deep foreboding feeling building up in his chest. He swallowed again, blinking, a hundred different situations running through his head. "Something bad."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one, but wouldn't you rather have short ones or none at all? I really liked writing this chapter, even though I'm rubbish at getting into character.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Birds in cages think flying is an illness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strong language and references to sexual assault are in this chapter, so, beware if you're triggered by that stuff.

Sam's tired feet guided him into the hotel room. Everything smelled so nice and perfumed, the carpets were soft, and the air was cozily warm. Sam stumbled in, slipping off his dirty shoes and socks and pushing them to the side. Corey and Devyn came in behind him, setting their things on the small table next to the door. Sam walked forward, hands by his sides. He looked in the bathroom, seeing the shower. 

"I'm going to use that." He said briskly, not giving the couple any chance to say anything before going in and shutting the door. The inside was cooler than the outside, in that sort of bathroom-y way. He went over toward the bath-shower and turned it on hot, letting the water run over his hands until it was steaming.

He stripped quickly, the rapidly heating crisp air flooding over his body. He stepped in, feeling the scalding water run down his face, soak his hair. All the grime and dirt washed off almost immediately, so Sam sat down, hands in his hair, trying to get the last bits out. His fingers were met with the short ragged scar on the back of his head, where the man would hit him whenever he wanted him unconscious. He took in a deep breath, a chill running up his spine despite the hot water. Sam had the sudden urge to not be found dead and naked, so he moved the shower curtain a bit, peeking out into the rest of the bathroom. Fortunately, no one stood there, and he slumped back against the smooth material of the bathtub.

Once he located the shampoo, Sam grabbed it, squirting a bit into his hand and then mushing it into his greasy locks. He leaned out of the water, rubbing the dirt out and shampoo in, eyes closing in concentration and pleasure. He never realized how good soap felt.. 

Sam sighed, pursing his lips as he bent forward, letting the fast-moving droplets pound against his skull. He sat, hands by his sides, breathing slowly as the soap ran down his body. It was so quiet, save for the pitter-patter of the water, and his mind took that as a sign to think.

Sam exhaled softly through his nose, water being momentarily blown away from his nostrils. _You're fine,_ He told himself, opening his mouth slightly to take a quick breath, regretting it when bitter-tasting water rushed down his throat. He gagged, spitting and coughing before returning back to normal shower things. _Well, you're fine in a sense._ Sam scooted out of the spray of the shower head, pulling his knees against his chest, an action he was terribly familiar with. He opened his eyes, taking the first true look at his body since he was captured. 

His legs had lost almost all muscle from not being used for seven straight months, and were littered with scars varying in size and color. His ankle, the long thin line running in a circle around it, was becoming much less inflamed and swollen. A particularly thick scar ran down his upper thigh to the top of his knee, the color of cotton candy. He remembered that one. It was one of the first big ones that left him thinking it was the end and he was going to die. The man had come in, silent as always, empty eyes tearing through Sam's soul. He was holding those garden clipper things, with the long crescent shaped blades, like scissors. Then, he promptly bent over and cut a line down Sam's leg, and then left him screaming in agony.

Soon after that, Sam had passed out from blood-loss, but awoke in what seemed like seconds to a bandaged thigh and lower leg. The blood was slightly mopped up, too, and a pitcher of water sat neatly in front of him. After a good fifteen minutes of struggling to get control of his limbs, Sam reached the pitcher and drank greedily from it. Out of all his very exclusive medical knowledge, he knew you needed to refill your fluids after loosing a significant amount of blood.

Now, water was all around him. The soap was gone from his hair, and Sam lifted his chin up parting his lips. Warm droplets of water filled up his mouth, and then he spat it out. Shower water tasted disgusting, that didn't change, ever. Never drink shower water.

Sam's body went rigid as he heard the door to the bathroom creak open. He sat still, the thoughts of being murdered whilst naked popping up in his brain again. He scrambled to grasp the shower curtain, drawing it back a bit to see what was happening. He was just in time to see the door closing, a hand withdrawing from it's side. In front of it was a neatly folded lump of comfortable-looking clothes. A large t-shirt and underwear, and what looked to be black sweatpants.

Sam nodded, laying his head against the cool tiled wall, letting the curtain fall back. He let a small smile settle on his battered face, his split lip stinging at the movement. Corey was still alive. Devyn too. They had found him, and in turn, he had found them. Sam was going to feel better soon, visions of the man climbing on top of him and sliding his grimy hands into his jeans would stop. _You'll forget it soon,_ He told himself. _It'll all go back to normal, even without Colby. You'll be fine._

His chest ached as he felt a sob building. He knew he was lying to himself.

\--

Sam stood in front of the mirror, fluffing his hair at the front as he usually he did. The clothes Corey had given him hung off his thin frame, and he had to tighten the straps of the sweatpants quite a bit to fit snugly around his waist. His cheeks were sunken in and he had bags to beat hell. Scars, bruises, and clotted cuts littered his pale face, but other than that, he looked perfectly fine. His eyes had lost their little spark of light, but Sam didn't want to think about that much. He was fine. He blinked before turning, walking carefully toward the door. He kicked his dirty clothes to the side, near the cabinets under the sink. He do something with them later, maybe burn them. Burning them sounded emotionally beneficial, and admittedly fun.

He pushed the thoughts of arson out of his brain, opening the bathroom door. He stepped onto the carpeted floor, digging his toes into the material before continuing around the corner.

On the bed nearest to the bathroom sat Corey and Devyn, Corey lying against the headboard with his hands under his head, and Devyn slouching over a laptop, phone held to her ear, one hand slowly typing something. She was talking quietly, but stopped when she noticed Sam had entered the room.

"I'll call you back, he's out." She said to whoever she had been talking to, hanging up the phone a second later. Corey straightened his back, sitting up, locking eyes with Sam. Devyn looked, too, and Sam inwardly cringed at the situation. He flicked his eyes away, staring at the other large bed nearest to the window. He pursed his lips, weary limbs practically dragging him towards it.

Without a word, Sam sat down on the bed, feeling the soft mattress bend under even his light weight. He climbed into the middle of it, sitting cross-legged, holding his chin in his hands, feeling the small little scar that ran across the bone. He thought of it, and where it originated. He remembered that night, and he would never forget the first time he saw the man's face. How he screamed for Colby, for his best friend. Just the thought brought him back into that state of sadness, that deep dark depression that ate at his heart, torn his insides into shreds. Tied his stomach into knots, made his fingers twitch, eyes water. The overwhelming guilt that gnawed at his subconscious.

Devyn glanced at Corey, eye's searching for something to say, before turning back to their ex-missing friend. She opened her mouth to reply, but was promptly cut off by Sam.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, staring at subtly flower patterned sheets, eyes tracing the neatly sewed lines. "It's my fault. I'm alive, and he's not. It was my fault." He managed to keep his voice steady, despite the crestfallen tone that had escaped. "He's dead, and it's my fault. I'm sorry I caused you anything-- any sorrow. I promise, I feel it too. It's not like I meant to get him k-killed." His voice finally broke at the last word, and his breath hitched. He stopped talking.

Devyn sat, lips parted in slight shock. Corey was confused, eyes showing the emotion very clearly. "What-?" He started, voice rough and tired. "Who? Who's dead?"

Sam glanced over, eyes glistening. He narrowed them, his own confusion overpowering melancholy guilt. He didn't want to say his name out loud. "It's.. well, _you know who._ " Why were they being so insensitive? Why didn't they look sad, at all? Colby was their best friend, too, maybe even more so than Sam!

"No one's dead." Devyn piped up, voice slow and cautious. "Everyone's fine, save for you." Her voice softened in concern. She stood, and Corey placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Babe," He started.

Devyn crossed the small distance between the two beds, sitting next to Sam, whose tears were threatening to spill. " _Colby,_ " He hissed out as he registered the mattress bending, voice hurt. "Why the _fuck_ are you playing with me? He's fucking _dead_ , and you're playing dumb? You think I don't fucking know already, when _I_ caused it?" He asked Devyn, voice wavering unsteadily.

Devyn blinked at Sam, the deepest sympathy swirling up from the depths. "Colby's not dead, Sam." She replied, curiosity peeking out from her voice. "I was just on the phone with him. He's _definitely_ not dead."

Something snapped in Sam's chest. Why were they lying? He knew Colby was dead, the man had told him so. He'd given them up, their channel, their house. The man could've killed all his friends if he had wanted, so why were they messing with him? "You're _lying._ " He spat, standing up abruptly, pushing Devyn away. He hopped off the bed, blood boiling. He did _not_ deserve to be messed with. How had he been friends with these.. these monsters? 

"Colby's your fucking _friend,_ " Sam declared, standing in front of the room, hands clenched into fists by his side. "and you fucking joke about his _death_ like that?" He let out a small, hysterical anger laugh, before cutting it off. "Who even are you people? Have you changed th-that much in s-seven months?" He gritted his teeth, watching as his 'friends' stiffened. Sam had never felt so angry before. It was like someone had lit a fire in his heart, and then poured a whole bunch of gasoline over it. He was exploding. 

He didn't want to hurt them, though. It was tempting- after all the abuse he had been through, punching someone seemed tame. However, he shoved his hands in his pockets, rushing out the door in a fast-walk. He heard his name being called as he made his way down the tacky hallway.

Sam clenched his eyes shut, feeling the water that had been sitting in them drip down his reddening cheeks. He felt the ground vibrate with nearing people, the footsteps shaking him to his core. He stopped, letting out a long, shaky breath. They were behind him.

He turned around, meeting their gazes confidently. "I know Colby's dead." He seethed. " _He_ told me. He told me he killed Colby. Gave me fucking proof, too. Showed me his fucking hair, all bloody, skin still fucking attached.." Sam shook the image away. It was one of the many horrors he'd endured that he thought he'd never speak of or think about, and there he was, speaking of it and thinking about it. Fuck.

Devyn got out her phone, and Sam watched, eyes uninterested, moods dancing in his blue irises. Anger, grief, guilt, confusion. So much at the same time. She went to her contacts, and the first one on her log was Colby. Sam exhaled through his nose at the sight. She clicked it, and then pressed the speaker. The call rang out, the loud beeps filling the silence of the hallway. Three beeps, and Sam had lost any spark of hope that happened to ignite. This was all some elaborate game. Did the even care about why he was missing, or just playing fucked up pranks?

Four beeps, and it was getting weird. Standing in the middle of a hotel hallway, someone kinda angry-crying, one holding a phone out, the other standing their idle, unsure of what to do. "Just hang up, I understand your _game_ -" Sam was interrupted by someone actually answering the call. His body went frigid.

"Is he okay?" Colby's voice, made tinny by the phone, rang into the air. Sam couldn't breathe. Colby sounded so worried, so concerned. His voice was like music to Sam's ears-- he knew expected to be able to hear it again. 

"C-Colby?" Sam choked out, eyes wide and shocked. New tears sprung up, and his eyes glistened. "That's actually you?"

Silence came from the other end, and it was a couple seconds before Colby decided to talk again. "Yeah, it's actually me, and it's actually you." His best friend took a deep breath, a shaky one that Sam knew too well. "God. I thought you were dead, man. I missed you."

Sam's heart seemed to skip a beat. He flexed his fingers, fists to open palm. He didn't understand. "No, you're dead." He replied quickly. "I saw it. I saw proof." His delirious mind couldn't believe it. No, nothing this good could happen to him. Colby was dead. This was someone else. "You're not alive."

A short and small humorless laugh from the other end. "I'm pretty alive, you _can_ hear me." He let out a long, exaggerated breath. "Breathing, too. I'm also very hungry, and I'm sure dead people can't get hungry." Sam knew this. He was using humor to make Sam feel better. He used to do it all the time.

"No, y-you're lying." He spat. "Someone told you to do that. Be funny. It's all a game, a trick." His voice wavered.

"I'm not dead, Sam. Promise. I'm right here, breathing and hungry. I _was_ looking for you, in Indiana, with Aaron." Colby responded, trying to keep his voice nonchalant. "But you're alive, and you're okay, right? He's okay?" He seemed to be directing his question at Devyn or Corey, maybe both.

Corey met Sam's eyes, and then they traveled down, tracing every visible scar, cut, and bruise. "Well, I mean, it's better than dead." Corey answered, voice heightening, sounding slightly relieved.

"Good." Colby sighed. "Sam, I'm right here. I'm fine. Whatever you've heard, I'm not remotely dead." Colby cleared his throat. "I have a paper cut, though, on my thumb. So I guess that kinda counts as 1/16 of a foot in the grave." Sam wanted to curl up, hug his torso and shove his face in his knees. He sounded exactly like Colby, acted like him, talked like him.

He desperately wanted it to be Colby. He wanted his best friend alive and well, save for a small paper cut he'd been overdramatic about. Colby didn't deserve anything bad to happen to him, no matter what. In Sam's mind, he was probably his most favorite person, ever. They grew up together, and they were inseparable. Though, Sam always was the one to drag Colby down. In high school, the were running the mile and Colby was two laps in front of him, and then Sam tripped and hurt his ankle. Colby stopped, sacrificing his time to bring Sam to the nurse's office. After that, Sam had forgotten to study on a finals test, and Colby let him cheat. Sam, being a the more respected student in that particular class, wasn't the one to get in trouble. They thought Colby had cheated, and when questioned, Colby agreed. He failed the class and had to redo it the next year. 

Sam was always bringing Colby down. Maybe he didn't this time, though. Maybe something finally went his way and everything was alright. He was back in the world, the man was gone, and he was with his friends. Every one of them was fine.

"Sam, I missed you. I thought you were dead." He broke the silence, also breaking his voice. He cleared his throat, waiting for a reply, in a very Colby-ish way.

Oh god, how could that _not_ be him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being gone so long (it was only like two days, but it seemed a long time for me). I had zero ideas and wanted to wait for a new one to sprout, otherwise I would dread writing this, and dreading something is a good way to start to hate the entire premise of it. Along with Inktober, increasingly stressful school stuff, and chores, I have almost zero time to write. 
> 
> Homecoming is tomorrow for me, so I won't get a chapter up tomorrow. I'm trying to make these longer, also, so it'll take longer for chapters to be written.
> 
> Thank you for reading this, and thank you for the kudos. This isn't a very popular thing, but I know as least five people liked it enough to give it kudos. So thanks so much! (Especially to the guest Ellie; people like them help me not abandon these things)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reminders aren't always friendly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I have zero knowledge of medical stuff. Just remember that.

It was dark outside. Despite it being summer, cold winds rushed through the air, shaking the trees and rustling bushes. Gray clouds swirled throughout the sky, heavy with oncoming rain. It would be silent, if not for the bickering couple a few paces away. Sam didn't know why they were fighting, really. It was hard to make such a loving couple like Corey and Devyn fight, but somehow, he'd made them. He was stressing them out, he knew. He wouldn't tell them anything about his whereabouts for the last seven months, and he had freaked out over some of the smallest things. That was probably why they were fighting right now.

Before, they had been shopping, or at least getting food at a convenience store. Sam had been standing idle when a man bumped into him-- a tall, skinny man who looked exactly like Sam's captor. Sam had made a huge scene, running full speed out of the small shop. They found him next to the car, hyperventilating and generally freaking out. He didn't even explain why he had done any of that, just a simple 'I'm fine'. He was stubborn. He couldn't blame them for fighting.

Sam stopped walking, arms wrapped around his chest, his go-to defensive position. It was cold. His feet felt frozen in his shoes, and his fingers were numb. The wind buffeted his hair, blowing in his face. The two didn't even notice his disappearance as they inserted the card into the hotel door, walking in and leaving Sam locked out. _It's fine,_ He told himself, _I'll let them cool down._ He inhaled and exhaled deeply, relishing in the feeling of the crisp air running through his lungs. It felt so good to be back in the real world, and not in a musty broken down building with the scent of death. It felt so good to see the sky again, to smell the roses, per say. To make it even better, Colby was alive and well. It made Sam's heart rush with excitement, with happiness and joy. 

He let a smile fall onto his face as he sat down on the concrete bench. The couple of trees behind him rustled in his ears, merging with the noises of the cars rushing past and birds tweeting. He closed his eyes, breathing slow, hands sat next to him.

"Sam!" Someone shouted, and Sam's eyes snapped open in surprise. Corey had come out of the hotel, Devyn on his heels. They were running toward him, eyes wide in shock and fear. Why did they look like that, why were they running?

A branch snapped behind Sam, and he didn't even have time to turn around before he was struck on the back of his head. He lurched forward, chin colliding painfully with the ground. His vision swam, and he attempted to push himself up, only to be slammed back on the ground. Everything went black for a second. His limbs felt like they were filled with lead. He couldn't move them, try as he might. 

Two calloused hands gripped him under his arms and hauled him backwards. His head hung limply to the side. His ears were buzzing, the continuous ringing only adding to the pain of his headache. People were shouting, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. Everything was muddled, sounds and colors merging together like watercolor paints. Nothing felt right, everything screamed at him to move, but he couldn't. His eyes slipped shut, and his body sagged forward, but he was still awake.

Whoever had been carrying him was thrust away, and Sam collapsed on his back on the pavement. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Something wet was on his scalp, trickling onto the ground underneath him. His head stung like his skull was being split open. Then, someone grasped his head, and lifted it slightly, hand probing around his hair. The fingers were met with a crevice along his skin, and strong throbs of absolute torture were sent through his body. He went rigid, groaning audibly, limp hands suddenly deciding to move again and turning into white-knuckled fists. The stranger pulled away, and Sam heard a small gasp. His body relaxed, but the dull ache was still there.

Some slapped his cheek gently, three times. "Sam-!" A feminine voice met his ears, worry etching it. "Sam, open your eyes. Sam!" The person softly shook his head, trying to urge a reaction from him. "You have to stay awake." They explained, dainty fingers brushing near his eyelids, tracing the side of his face.

Sam forced his eyes open, even if it was just a slit. Everything was so blurry, but he could make out a woman's face above him, hair hanging down. Devyn. Her winged eyeliner was smudged, makeup messed up from what looked like moisture, tears. Sam tried to speak again, but could only muster another moan.

"Yeah, that's it, keep your eyes open." She encouraged, nodding to herself. She removed her hands from his face, instead using them to grab at his own fingers. She curled them together. "You have to stay awake, okay? You're-- your head is bleeding." 

Sam mentally nodded. That's what the wetness was. His eyes opened a little more, and he was thankful it was night. Even the lights from the hotel hurt to look at. "Mmhmm.." He responded uselessly, breathing raggedly. He felt so tired, and before he knew it, his eyelids were drooping closed again. Where was he, again? What had happened? Why was he so tired?

"No! Awake, Sam. Stay awake." Devyn urged him, dropping his hands and shaking his shoulders roughly. Sam's eyes shot open again, wide and panicked. He blinked rapidly, eyes narrowing. 

"Where.. what happn'd?" He slurred, feeling like his mouth was full of cotton. His lips were so dry. 

Devyn glanced over to the side, watching something. "You hurt your head, okay? You gotta stay awake." She repeated, frowning. Whatever was over there caught her attention again. " _Shit._ Stay awake, Sam, don't close your eyes, okay?" And with that, she turned away, rushing toward something in the distance.

Black snakes swirled into his eyes, blocking out the colors. They whispered at him, telling him to close his eyes, telling him to drift off into sleep and everything'd be okay, but Sam knew better. Devyn had told him to stay awake, and he was going to. The migraine settled in his brain seemed to get worse, tearing at the inner lining of his skull. Hours seemed to pass before Devyn appeared over him again. At Sam's blank stare she was suddenly incredibly frightened, but she calmed when he blinked. She hoisted him up by one arm, and he was incredibly confused.

"Come on!" She urged, and Sam's blurry vision showed Corey and Devyn booking it toward the hotel doors. His heart started to beat frantically, and he started running too. His feet felt like they were filled with sand, and he found it incredibly hard to put one in front of the other. Corey quickly swiped the card, and the door opened. They both rushed in, and turned around just in time to see Sam pushed in. Then the couple grabbed the door and shut it, as quick and hard as humanly possible. Sam stumbled forward, almost running into the wall. He leaned heavily against it, head lolling forward a bit. His vision spun and it felt like the world was tilting on an edge.

"What _was_ that?" Corey asked incredulously, eyes trained on Sam's captor who was limping away toward a beat up car in the distance. He wiped his cheek, which had a blossoming bruise and a small cut on it. Sam frowned, chest heaving. He opened his mouth to respond, but then a white hot pain fell over him, and he fell forward. Someone caught him. He looked up, messed up vision showing him the blurry version of Corey. He forced a grin. 

"Th'nks." He murmured as Corey slipped his arm under Sam's. They started moving, and Sam put his entire weight on Corey, feeling fatigue pushing down on him. Devyn walked beside them, and Sam felt her eyes traveling to the rivulets of blood leaking down the back of his neck. His nodded, but even that movement send waves of nausea through him. 

\--

The walk up to their room was excruciating. When they got in, the couple set Sam down on the bed, and immediately went to the first aid kit in the bathroom.

"I'm sure it's not that bad." Sam muttered, having regained some of his speech. His headache was still going strong and everything was stiff, but other than that, he was a-okay. "Just a cut, right?" The sound of a faucet turning on.

Devyn walked back in with the roll of gauze and a wet rag. "Sit up, tilt your head forward." She instructed softly, and Sam obeyed, despite the feelings of vertigo that resonated within him at the movement. She crouched over him, fingers separating the blood-matted hair surrounding the source of it. "It's not as bad as I thought, good. Doesn't need stitches." Sam heard a relieved sigh from across the room. Devyn dabbed the rag on the wound, and Sam hissed in pain, the stinging momentarily sending white hot pain into his eyes. Sam was silent if not for the little noises reacting to the stings as she fixed him up, wrapping the gauze around his head. He probably looked really dumb. 

Devyn moved away, and a new presence entered his bubble. "Sam, tilt your head up now." Sam did as he was told, and was met with blinding light. He closed his eyes, blinking rapidly. "No, open your eyes." Despite how the light hurt his everything, Sam opened his eyes back up. A hand gripped the side of his face and steadied him, and the light came closer. Sam's eyes watered.

"Dilated pupils, he has a concussion." Corey murmured, clicking off the flashlight, and Devyn made a _tsk_ noise. "We have to watch him all night."

"You don't, really." Sam muttered, rubbing his eyes. "I'm fine."

A scoff from Corey. "No, dude, you're not." He responded sarcastically. "If you go to sleep you might not wake up. That's how head injuries and concussions work."

Sam whined, leaning against the headboard. "But I'm tired." He complained, hugging his chest protectively. "I'm gonna pass out sometime. It's.. it's inevitable." 

"We're going to keep you awake." Devyn countered, crossing her arms. "So, it's not inevitable."

\--

The night went on boring. Sam felt like death. His eyelids begged to be closed, and he seemed to be nodding off whenever Corey and Devyn weren't looking. The TV was on the news channel, but Sam wasn't paying attention. The anchor's cheery tune went in one side of his head and out the other.

"Who was that?" Corey asked for what seemed to be the one hundredth time. "And don't tell me no one, because that wasn't a coincidence back there."

Sam bit his lip, sleepiness eating away at his state of mind. He sighed deeply, leaning forward, grasping the sheets tightly, knuckles white. His blood boiled. He was done not answering. "The one who kidnapped me." He spat, voice wavering at the end. "He was at the asylum when me and Colby went there. I sprained my ankle, couldn't run, and he got me. Then, he dragged me back to this hidden room in the place that was void of graffiti, and basically tortured me in very creative ways for seven months straight, barely giving me enough food or water to survive. I almost died, a lot. He even-- he did.. he did gross stuff to me. Disgusting stuff. Things you don't talk about stuff. Then, I escaped, and I thought I fucking _killed_ him when I stole his car and ran him over!" He rambled, some words mushing together. "I guess I was mistaken." Devyn and Corey were silent. Sam didn't look up, He squeezed his chest, running his hands along his sides. 

No one spoke. It was crazy, Sam had never shut anyone up for so long before. He rolled on his side, pulling the covers around his thin body. He had been awake for a good three hours since he'd been hit on the head, he could sleep without danger. He was pretty sure that whole 'you can't sleep when you get a concussion' thing was a myth anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've read on multiple websites that the whole sleep and concussions thing is a myth and on some it's not a myth, so I don't know. All I know is that when I was a younger kid and I had a concussion my mom didn't want me to sleep, so that's being seen as the truth here for the moment.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally updated this one, and I have a newfound love for it! I have so many ideas for where this will go now - in fact, I am already working on the chapter after this. I'm super proud of this chapter, mostly the middle and ending of it. The way I wrote Sam, I just love it. 
> 
> I also got all my inspiration from a playlist of indie songs, and I have found that certain types of music make me write a certain way. Some types make me think too much, make me too ambitious, give me so many swirling complex thoughts and ideas I can't even do anything and it usually makes me super sad. Some make me just want to dance like an idiot, they improve my overall mental health and make it feel like I don't have a care in the world when I'm with the song. With the feel and tones of a specific band's songs, among other great bands of similar genres, I have found a healthy middle ground, so expect chapters more often, but remember, it still takes me awhile to get this stuff on a page.

After you drop a bomb on someone, you expect them to be a little speechless, but not this.

In the morning, Sam found that Devyn and Corey were gone - the car wasn't outside. Their stuff was packed up and sitting by the door, neatly stuffed into three suitcases. He was about to stretch and yawn and go investigate when a knocking sound echoed throughout the suite, coming from the door. He groaned in frustration, assuming it was the couple, maybe having forgotten the hotel key inside the room. He begrudgingly pulled the covers off his wiry body, bare feet hitting the carpet with a soft thump. He sighed, standing up, adjusting his loose-fitting sweatpants before making the trek to the door.

Sam clasped his hand on the cold metal handle, turning it until he heard the click of the electronic lock. "Corey, Devyn-" He was cut off by the squeals and shouts from the other side of the door. It wasn't Corey, nor Devyn. There stood a mass of people, taking up all the hallway space in front of the door. They had phones aimed at his face, the little light next to the camera indicating they were recording. There were flashes as they took his picture. He just stared with a half-baked expression, peeking out in a little crack of the door. He suddenly became very aware of his appearance - bone-thin, disheveled. His hair was sticking up in directions from sleeping, and the scars that littered his way too pale face probably said a lot. Not to mention the dark bags under his eyes, he probably looked like shit, not good for wherever this photo evidence was going.

Oh no - _photo evidence_. Sam hadn't even taken into account the media coverage his disappearance had been bound to get. No wonder people were documenting him behind stone walls, he was just the subject of an elaborate news story. His heart fell into his stomach, dread settling over his body. He sank to the ground, back sliding against the door. He would have to do interviews about the happenings of the seven months. He'd have to tell complete strangers his entire story. The weight of it all settled onto his shoulders like a too-heavy blanket. Suffocating him. His chest started to heave at the mere idea of having to give the incoherent word vomit he called speech to other people, he'd done it enough the night before. Corey and Devyn were the only ones that needed to know, maybe his roommates at the house, but that was it. No one else.

He had his head in his hands when he heard the clicking of the door unlocking from the other side. Sam's heart, previously down, leaped into his throat. He scrambled to get away from the door, to defend himself from the onslaught of people with anything he could, but the only thing that greeted him was his friends. They were pushing through the crowd, pulling themselves inside the room to escape the many rapid-fired questions aimed at their heads. They finally made it in, and after closing the door, they both let out a sigh of relief.

"We have to go," Sam started, flexing his fingers. "Get on a plane or something, we have to-"

Devyn shook her head, shoving a blue colored plane ticket in front of his face. Sam paused, speechless, shyly taking the very important piece of paper from her hands. He studied it, read the details. They had to leave soon, they had a plane, they were going back to California. A smile settled on his lips, and he looked up from the ticket, meeting the couple's eyes. 

\--

They were booking it to the car, the small but overwhelming amount of people close behind. Sam thought his fans were better than that, chasing someone like they weren't a person and more an object. The feeling of being chased made him remembered that night, the night eight months ago where he was attacked, so that didn't help any. Sam registered an ache in his ankle, a scarily familiar sensation that made him run with a slight hop, but he didn't really pay as much attention to it as he should've as he sprinted across the pavement. They barely even made it to the door to be able to get in, and he was worried the people didn't have enough sense to move away from the path of the car, but luckily they did, and soon they were on the road, leaving the annoying batch of people standing idly in the parking lot.

Sam relaxed once they lost sight of them, body sinking into the soft seats. He leaned back, letting out a long and drawn out breath of relief. He looked at the other two in the front seats, Corey speeding through traffic and Devyn sitting stiffly by his side.

"How bad was it?" He asked, lifting his head from the soft peach-fuzz fabric. "The news people, I mean. Reporters and stuff."

Corey exhaled slowly, flexing his hands on the wheel. "There was a lot of it. It was, uh, hard to do emotionless interviews when your best friend is missing," He started, glancing at Devyn. "Especially for Colby, I mean, there was all that trouble from actually going in that no trespassing place and the fines and stuff, there were search parties being started but we had to get permission to actually look for you, and it was really hard to do anything about anything. People were swarming us when we were in public, reporters and random fans. We took a good month break from posting anything, other than update videos, and a couple weeks after that.." He paused, straightening his posture in the driver's seat, before taking a sharp turn when he spotted the sign that said _Airport_. "Well, we really treated you like you had died. We uh, mourned and stuff. No one except for Colby ever went near your room."

Sam's heart ached at the news, and he got out of his comfortable position, suddenly feeling very guilty. They'd gone through so much because of him, because he couldn't get out of that situation earlier. He'd broken under the hand of the man, and gave up his best friend. Even though Colby was alive and unharmed except for a paper cut, it was still a horrible thing to do - leave someone in the mud, throw them to the wolves. He could've been killed, and it would've been Sam's fault. 

Shaking his head, he inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself and dispel the destructive thoughts plaguing him. He was fine, it wasn't his fault. There was nothing he could do to stop anything that happened.

They were left in silence, no one wanting to talk. After everything that happened, Sam was sure it was better not to speak their feelings. You know, just in case something slipped, like it did the night before.

 

 

The airport was hell. Sam barely remembered the one from California to Maryland eight months before, and the little memory he retained wasn't pleasant. Now, pushing through crowds of people that greatly outnumbered the previous crowd they'd come across, it was hard to keep your footing.

"We're going to miss it," He heard Devyn's voice from up ahead, shrill and out of breath. "Come on, Sam!"

He couldn't see her or Corey in the mass of people, and no one was getting out of their way, some even attempting to trip him up or delay them more. He pushed himself harder, finally emerging into a more open clearing. He ran forward, ankle sending jolts up his spine as he searched for Devyn's army green rain coat. He was beginning to lose hope when he spotted her, following her boyfriend into what seemed like the entrance to the tunnel - they were handing their tickets to a lady, boarding the plane. He sprinted forward as fast as he could possibly go, coming up behind her at the last second and grabbing her hood. She stopped, whipping around to face her attacker before realizing it was only Sam. He gave her an exasperated look before handing his ticket to the airport employee behind the counter who had been shouting something at them in a very irritated tone.

\--

Sam never realized how stunning clouds were.

He sat with his legs crossed stiffly over each other, arms wrapping around his chest and body angled to the side. His ankle still had that dull ache from overworking it or something else, and the pain pulsed up and down his leg every other second. His two friends sat next to him, both asleep and leaning on each other, Devyn on Corey and Corey on Sam, shoving him into the wall of the plane. It was a very uncomfortable position, but that was not what Sam's mind was focused on. It was the sky outside - beautiful fluffy clouds that looked like they were crafted with acrylics on a soft baby blue canvas, the strokes delicate and wide. The sun was shining somewhere off behind the plane, warm pinks, yellows, and oranges invading the calm atmosphere and mixing together like an artist was trying to make one color and messed up more than a few times. Despite how it may sound, the failures did not take away from the piece's magnificence - in fact, they only added to the overall beauty. The little human mistakes that one would be surprised to see present in the sky above, shown by the little wisps of white and subtle smudges in the gradient of a sunset or sunrise. Sam couldn't describe the feeling that it sent through him, a deep sensation of childlike wonder, along with the oddly relieving sense that he didn't matter in the grand scale of things. After he was gone, those same alluring errors and striking paint-like strokes would still be there, sitting idle but ever changing in the cool blue sky.

Sam smiled blissfully, closing his eyes and leaning against the window. He moved a hand from his chest to his leg and down to his ankle. He rubbed the hot, scar covered skin, thoughts blurring, feeling that despite everything that happened, he would be okay.

\--

"Colby-"

The lifeless body sat before him on a colorless plane, surrounded by a widening dark pool of red. His face wasn't peaceful, contrary to popular belief. It was dead, there were no other words to describe it. An empty vessel, per say. He looked gone, the crimson stains and purple bruises not helping the supposed sleepy illusion at all. His lips were parted slightly, blood dribbling down his chin in thick lines. His eyes, those beautiful stormy blue eyes, were staring blindly off into the distance, clouded, sad, desolate. The wet glint of already cried tears under them only pushed the point.

He was in a certain position, one that Sam knew well. One arm was wrapped around his torso, the other lying motionlessly next to his head like he had been trying to shield a blow. His legs were curled up, almost to his chest, pushed in an a position that would protect his stomach at the cost of his knees. Of course, it was all a half-cooked educated guess, you couldn't tell exactly what happened before, except that he had been beaten. Every part of him except his face and hands, bleeding, bruised and broken. Beaten to a pulp.

Sam rushed forward, soaking his knees in blood as he fell next to Colby's face. His heart was beating out of his chest, pale hands hovering over the mutilated body of his best friend, unable to find the nerve to touch him. His pastel blue eyes were wide with fear, grief, and confusion.

"But you're not dead," Sam started stubbornly, voice shaking, unsteady. "I h-heard you on the phone, you're not dead, you're perfectly fine." He swallowed, but found it hard to get any air into his chest, throat constricting. He let out a small and quiet strangled sob-like noise, not knowing what to do, where to go. His eyes wracked Colby's body, finally settling on one of the parts of him that was untouched - his hands.

He grabbed one in a firm grasp, ignoring how cold it felt as he placed a finger on his wrist, pushing in. Wishing, praying for blood to pump past it, begging for the little thump. Back in his mind, he knew nothing would happen. He'd lost too much blood to even be conscious, let alone alive. There was no way anyone could survive an attack of that force, how it was hard to differentiate blood from skin, blood from bone. 

"Oh god," Sam whispered. "No, no, not after how much I did to get back. You can't leave me now, please." He laced his fingers in Colby's, tears threatening to spill, but his pleads didn't change anything, didn't make anything better.

A footstep, echoing across the glass-like flooring. Sam's spine when rigid, and he whipped around, dropping Colby's stiff hand. What he was met with was the man in the distance, standing still, stark against the blackness of the atmosphere. He himself looked like a corpse - pale, gray skin with lifeless glassy eyes, stringy hair, and long, bony limbs. He met Sam's gaze quickly, and the message the glare sent was not one you'd like to receive.

Despite the warning, Sam stood, anger building up in his chest. His fists shook, and his eyes went to the blood on the man's long hands. Colby's blood.

"What do you want from me?" Sam asked, surprised to hear how calm he sounded, other than the usual shaky tone from crying. "Wh-what the fuck do you want? To r-ruin ev-verying about my l-life?" He breathed heavily as he took a step forward, missing the second glare of warning the man sent him. "Why'd you h-have to do that? Wh-why? Why didn't you t-take me? Why are you so f-fucking hellbent on ruining my life?"

The man took a step forward, then another. Then a few more. Then some more.

Sam stood still, eyes wide and rage gone. Something felt hot, and his ankle started to burn.

The man was running now. Sam couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't feel anything but hot. Burning, sizzling, flesh screaming as the red-hot rod was slammed along his back and stomach and chest and face and legs-

\--

Sam was jolted awake by a bump in the road. He was shivering, but still felt too warm. He was sweating, could feel the liquid running down the back of his neck and back. His chest rose and fell, rose and fell, each breath sharp and audible. He gulped in air like he hadn't had it for months. His stomach was tied in a knot and he felt like vomiting, his head ached, his ankle felt like someone had stomped on it - and yes, he knew how that felt. No one seemed to notice his state, either - Corey was driving, eyes glued to the road, posture slumped and tired, and Devyn was asleep in the passenger seat, hugging a pillow like she'd die if she didn't. Sam's was slumped to the side, but even the coolness of the glass did nothing to aid his temperature. He shook his head, reminding himself that the dream wasn't real. He had too many of those nightmares to even dwell on them anymore.

Closing his eyes and concentrating on regulating his breathing, Sam reached forward, sliding his hand along the plastic of the car door until he felt the sharp edges of the window switch. He pressed it, letting out a sigh of relief at the cold air that rushed in. He readjusted his position, getting his head closer to the window, letting the wind ruffle his hair and blow at his face, dispelling the heat.

"You're awake," Corey commented listlessly, frightening Sam into leaning away from the window.

He took in a deep breath. "Yeah," He responded, reflecting his friend's tone.

Corey shuffled in his seat, flexing his hands on the wheel. "We'll be there in an hour or two," He added, voice quiet. "I called Colby while you were asleep - he's, uh, staying up, waiting."

A small and soft smile settled on Sam's lips. He moved his hand away from the button, setting it in his lap. "Good," He answered, a very satisfied feeling rising up through him. "That's good." He nodded to himself, leaning more on the door and putting his arms under his head. He glanced at Corey, who's concerned eyes were watching him in the mirror. "I'm fine. Wake me when we get there, okay?" He closed his eyes, feeling weariness attempting to tug him back into slumber, but he waited for a response.

"I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy with this. I have a good idea for what's going to happen next, too, and a way to end this one. 
> 
> Also everyone keeps calling this a Solby fic, and it's kinda leaning that way.. should I make it officially that, just scrap the whole gen thing?


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rewrote this cause the other one sucked!!!!!

Walking into the house was hard, how Sam swayed and eyelids drooped, barely able to walk in a straight line. His ankle hurt each time he stepped on it and he knew in the back of his sleep-deprived mind that it would never get better. It should've made him sad, but at the moment, he didn't care. He was home, walking back through those wooden doors, smelling the smell he never noticed before rush into his nose. It was hard to explain, but as he stepped forward and Devyn and Corey closed the doors behind him, he knew the experience was over. The man was gone, hopefully dead, and they were safe. He was safe. Colby was safe.

Speaking of Colby..

"Sam!" His name was shouted from a person he'd previously thought he'd never see again, and he turned, heart swelling at the sight of the brunette barreling toward him. A huge smile grew on his face, and before he could even move forward Colby's arms were around him, hugging tightly with his head buried in his shoulder. A warm feeling spread through Sam. Colby was alive. He was actually alive. He returned the hug, feeling water well up in his eyes. It had been so long. Too long.

"Colby." Was all Sam could say, voice shaking as the pleasant reality set in. Colby wasn't dead. He was in his arms, safe, unharmed. Crying. He was crying.

Sam's heart seemed to break into a million pieces, and he pulled Colby closer, feeling his best friend shaking under his arms. He wasn't just crying, no. He was sobbing. Collapsing in Sam's grasp. If anything, Sam should've been the one collapsing. The guilt that had been eating him away for months on end almost killed him, and just recently had he learned the truth. Even then, he didn't really believe it. But now, realizing that it was the truth, everything in Sam's mind should've been caving in, but it wasn't. Colby's was. Then, it all made complete sense, and Sam realized how completely stupid he was.

Colby probably thought Sam was dead for the entire seven months, and blamed himself for leaving his best friend behind. Sam wouldn't have been surprised if he had cried. A lot. Corey and Devyn already told him how much they did, how much sleep they lost when he was missing. They hadn't been friends with him since middle school, and it hit them that hard, so what had it done to Colby?

"Hey, hey, it's okay." Sam murmured, holding the shaking mess of a friend up, who was muttering something quietly, something Sam couldn't hear. It was weird - after escaping he was used being comforted, not comforting someone else. Sighing, he leaned closer. "It's okay, Colby I'm here. I'm alive. I'm back, I'm okay." He soothed, choked up but in a much better state compared to Colby.

"You're actually here." He breathed, in what seemed like awe. "I can't believe.. god, Sam, you were gone so long.." Sam nodded, and Colby sniffled, trying to contain himself, pulling away from the embrace. Sam felt himself longing to go back, but he didn't, taking a step back with his eyes wide. He was very awake now, sleep very far back in his mind. "Wow, Sam.." Colby shook his head, icy blue eyes scanning his body, noticing his stature, how skinny he was, the nervous twitch in his finger, and the way he stood on his ankle. Fear, worry, concern or some other synonym lit up in those stormy blues, and Sam forced a smile. "Your- your _face_ -" He sputtered. "Scars-"

"Yeah, scars." Sam responded listlessly, bringing his hand to his face. He traced one, a smaller but thick white crescent tracing the top of his cheekbone. "A lot of them, I get it, it's a shock. Almost all of them are, uh, gone though. Healed." He feigned a laugh. A horribly fake laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. At the sight of Colby's face, his mask melted. "Colby, I'm fine. I promise."

"But you're limping!" He retaliated. "And- and-"

Closing the distance between them, Sam pulled him back into a softer embrace, feeling Colby's breath on his neck. It felt so good to hug someone again. He was so touch-starved, it felt heavenly to finally feel another human's warmth. 

"Colby, I'm fine." He whispered in his ear. "Just a little banged up. Not dead, though, so stop worrying." Sam pulled away, his heart soaring as he saw that he put a stop to Colby's crying. Words sat on the tip of his tongue, important ones, but he managed to swallow them, refuse to say them. "I missed you." He stated fondly, changing the statement he had in his mind and twiddling with fingers. "But I've got to, uh, do a lot tomorrow. _We_ have a lot to do tomorrow."

"Yes," Colby responded, wiping his face and trying to hide what looked like embarrassment. "I've got to, too. It's five am. Super late. I stayed up all night waiting." His voice was weird, and despite Sam's actions beforehand, the situation turned awkward, sadly. Colby shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Yeah. I've gotta sleep too."

Sam turned around, and it dawned on him that Devyn and Corey must've seen the whole thing, but fortunately they seemed to be gone when he looked. Left, gave the two privacy. Thank god. 

He turned to glance at Colby, who was making his way up the stairs. Sam mentally cursed - stairs. He hated stairs. Whatever was wrong with his ankle was giving him a limp, and it was hard to do the simplest things, for example, like walking up stairs. Whatever, he could do it. This was home, and he was so thankful to be there he literally felt like kissing the floor, so he would work through some stupid stairs.

Coming up behind Colby, he began his ascent. Like expected, each step with his foot sent a pang of dull pain up to his hip, leading all the way to his shoulder, making that whole side of him ache. He hid his winces, face screwing up in pain, but he made no noise. It wasn't like Colby was going to look behind him, right? They were going to go get much needed sleep, right?

In the end, yes. But there were some stares as they entered their own rooms, blues locking for a prolonged amount of time, and Sam could feel Colby's eyes tracing the scars on his face, the long, milky white markings, so he turned away, stepping into the coolness of his room and shutting the door softly behind him.

He breathed in a deep breath, the scent that greeted him sending spikes of familiarity into his head. It was one he hadn't smelled in such a long time. It was his smell, his natural scent if you will. Mostly smelled like some cheap cologne, but there was a bit of originality. A rosy twist, like flower petals. A little girly, but it was such a comforting smell..

Sam walked forward, unceremoniously collapsing onto his bed, pulling his blankets loosely around him before promptly blacking out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u like. please comment nice things cause i have zero motivation and u all are the only reasons im continuing


	13. No one's ever going to take you away again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this might not be the actually ending i dunno ill prolly just make a whole sequel with a bunch of fluff and like healing and stuff but it seemed pretty right to end it here..

That night, Sam, Corey, and Devyn went to the police.

By then, the news of Sam's reappearance had already circulated - they already had plans to investigate the mansion on the terms of hiding a missing person. Thankfully, Sam went to the authorities just in time.

First came the question. Sam came clean easily, hiding a few details he didn't want to disclose. He just said the simple things - he was kidnapped by an unknown man whom he gave a description of, tortured and held in some secret room in the abandoned Forest Haven asylum for a good seven months before making his escape. Devyn and Corey told the cops about the second attack, how he came back for Sam, and about the girl he'd murdered in front of Sam's eyes. He learned her name, too. Sarah Rose Reyes, missing for a good six months after also traveling to Maryland, aged only at sixteen.

She hadn't even looked that young. As expected, the news brought Sam to tears. The guilt from Colby's death being lifted, now replaced by the death of a teenage girl who just wanted to have fun. She had so much to do, so much potential. And, when it came down to the barest details, her death was Sam's fault.

After some more talking, Sam was informed of another missing persons case - a young man who lived in a town near Maryland, tall with a head of brown hair that he immediately recognized. After he immediately vomited in the nearest trashcan at the sight, he was sent to be inspected by the station's medical professional. Thankfully, the woman didn't need anything big, other than normal check up stuff. 

They weighed him, and it turned out a good half of the pounds he was before were gone. As well as that, she reccomended he go to a therapist for his experiences, but he politely declined. She'd made him take his shirt off, and was shocked by the burns, the scars and the bruises still visible after all that time. They weren't anything to worry about, she said, they'd just hurt. Sam had an x-ray, too, showing all the breakages in his skeleton. His bones were weak from calcium deficency, and she said was the worst medical outcome of his case she'd seen so far, which was a good thing to her. But, some of the things that broke had healed incorrectly. Most of them were fine, they wouldn't cause major problems, but his ankle - that was the real issue. The bone was almost cartoonishly askew. The doctor told him they couldn't fix it without him having some crazy surgery where he could loose his foot, and he asked if it could heal on his own with anything easier. She said it was too late, the damage was permanent, so he'd have a limp all his life and deal with the pain since he didn't want the surgery - she prescribed low grade pain pills, probably not any better than ibuprofen, to aid him, along with crutches he could use whenever he wanted. He'd have to take two pills every day if he was aching, too, and absolutely no strenuous activities. That meant no exploring places, no extensive running, no fun. Long story short, Sam spent some more time crying.

Then, came the more intimate check ups. Sam was told afterward that he'd had a panic attack and fainted. He also learned that he had scars down there.

It was sickening.

It took another three hours after that before they were released - more stupid questions that Sam's muddled brain couldn't remember even if he tried - immediately heading back home. It felt good to call someplace home again, that he actually had one, but that girl's death was still on his mind. He caused it. It was Colby all over again, but he didn't know how he would get over this one. It wasn't like he didn't know if she was dead or not - he'd seen the man bash her head in until her brain was splattered on every surface in his cell, even on him. her body was unrecognizable then, reduced to red mush with clothing bits sticking out of the gore. he knew for a fact she was dead, and it hurt much worse than his ankle ever would.

 

 

The unmistakable creaking of crutches alerted the house to Sam's arrival. 

Colby looked up from the kitchen island, where he'd previously had his head buried into. Sam slowly came from the door, arriving into view. Like expected, he was held up by crutches, hopping on one foot, opposite the one he'd been favoring the night before. In his hand was a white paper bag, stamped with the nearest hospital's logo. Concern lit up Colby's face. Sam's head was angled toward the ground, not even noticing Colby just sitting there, walking past him to the stairs. He stood still at the bottom of them, gazing up at the challenge ahead.

Colby jumped out of his seat. He saw an oppurtunity, and he was going to take it. Anything to help his miraciously not dead best friend.

"Hey," Colby started, lighting taking Sam by the forearm. He flinched, or more accurately jumped, pastel blue eyes widening considerably and a little shocked gasp passing his lips. He turned his scarred face toward Colby, but then he smiled. Colby motioned toward the crutches. "Give me those." He stated loosely, adn Sam handed them over, Colby tucking them under his arm. 

"Now, stairs," Sam started, voice quieter than normal as his eyes fell to his shoes. "I don't think I can do those. It uh-"

"Hurts?" Colby finished, slinging Sam's arm over his shoulders. Sam leaned on him, half of his meager weight, and Colby took it, grinning warmly. "I have a simple, stress-free solution for your stairs problem, Sam. Just watch."

Motioning forward, they began to climb. One step at a time, Sam hopping and testing his ankle, usually regretting it afterwards. It seemed to be worse than the night before, too, so that didn't help. He didn't know how long it took before they were on the second floor, but when they did, they were safe and sound. Colby handed Sam's crutches back.

"Thanks." The blonde muttered humbly, putting the things back under his arms. Colby's eyes narrowed. Sam looked toward him. "Really. Thank you."

"It's no problem, man." Colby responded, trying to shrug it off and silence his smile. "It's the least I could do with you back and all." He paused, swallowing, thinking of something to say. "Sam, you know that I'm really glad you're back, right?"

Sam waited a few seconds before replying. "Yeah, I know," He started, turning toward his room. "I'm glad you're not dead, too." He stood still for a moment, before walking into his room.

Colby watched him go. Something was bugging him. He still didn't know exactly _why_ Sam thought he was dead. There was no real reason he could think of. In fact, he had no idea what happened at all, other than the things Corey told him over the phone. It was sad to think about, but apparently Sam had been kidnapped, held captive for all the time he was gone. His captor did things to him, but the only thing Corey mentioned was some kind of torture. It was obvious - Sam's face was a battleground, some of the scars still a reddish pink color from healing wrong. Colby was surprised he wasn't a paranoid mess- from the things he'd seen, torture meant your mind breaking, in some way or another, unless you were made of steel. And Sam wasn't.

Rushing forward, Colby entered Sam's room. He was laying on his bed, crutches beside him, head down. He looked up when he heard the door.

"Colby ?" Sam murmured, movements sluggish as he pushed himself up in a sitting position, hands gripping the bed sheets tightly. "What is it?"

Colby walked over to the bed, maybe a little too quickly. It felt good having Sam in his room, the space was empty for far too long. The guys had contemplated just renting out the room to another person, but Colby wouldn't let them, and the waiting had paid off. Sam was back, alive, maybe not well, but that wasn't what mattered in the long run - he was breathing, and back where he belonged. It felt right. But there was one thing that wasn't right, something he had to know otherwise he was sure he would never understand the entirety of the situation. He needed to know - it was his fault in the first place that Sam was taken. 

"Why did you think I was dead?"

 

 

It was dark. The lamp's light was on the verge of burning out, and Sam would let. It'd be easier on his head and make it easier to sleep. Forget what he'd said, forget that the man hadn't been back in days, a week maybe, leaving Sam starving and dying from thirst. Everything hurt, and nothing was getting better with this lack of resources. His had his hands tuck under his head, serving as a makeshift pillow, eyes closed. He wished he could will himself to sleep. But, of course, any hopes for sleep disappeared when the door creaked open, heavy footsteps that he hadn't sensed before now coming straight toward him. His eyes flew open and his heart started racing as he flew up into a sitting position, meeting the man's eyes, tall figure casting a shadow over his face. His eyes flickered down to the man's hands, and he started shaking - he was holding something tightly behind his back, item obscured by his stance. Sam swallowed thickly, staring intensely forward, trying to act like everything was fine.

Over time, Sam grew accustomed to how the man acted. He barely spoke, only doing so to make Sam squirm in the best time possible for him, and he never seemed to show any emotion other than bitter anger and, well, nothingness. All the rest was kinda hard to think about, but there was one thing that stayed in Sam's mind - whenever he had his hand behind his back, it meant something bad was going to happen. It was always some weapon for another beating - may it be a steel pole, knife, or red hot iron rod, he would always use it to harm Sam in some way. So, he had good reason to be frightened. His body was still recovering from the earlier attack. He was so underweight, and so dehydrated, Sam didn't believe he could survive another one.

He directed his gaze to the floor when the man knelt down, once again bringing his mouth right next to Sam's ear. He waited for him to speak, but he heard no voice. Instead, he felt heat coming toward him. And before he knew it, he was once again screaming, a bar being swung repeatedly at his back. He heard the sizzling of his clothes as they touched for a second before the man swung again, and Sam leaned forward, grabbing his legs and gripping so hard it would leave bruises. Over and over again, it was now hitting bare skin, and Sam cried out each time, the white-hot pain making him unable to think about anything. It just hurt, like something nobody should ever be forced to endure.

When it was done, Sam felt like he was paralyzed. He was scared he _was_ paralyzed. He couldn't move his legs or his arms or anything. All he felt was that sizzling, burning sensation trickling all throughout his body, pulling at every nerve. He could hear the man breathing heavily, and he tried to hold back his sobs, feeling on the verge of passing out. This was all too much to handle.

Then, he spoke.

"Your friend is dead," The man seethed from where he stood, voice deep and hoarse, a noise Sam never wanted to hear again. "Stop fighting."

Sam turned his head to the side, dread overtaking pain immediately. Colby, dead? No. He was all the way in California. Safe. He knew from the first word that it was just a scare tactic, and something to make him easier to mess with. And he was about to retort all about it when his eyes met it. The brown hair, dripping with blood. Just skin, red and rotting. He saw maggots swirling in and out of the flesh, some falling to their deaths as they struggled to hold on. He felt sick. Oh, so so sick. Realizing he wasn't actually paralyzed, he instinctively turned to the side, emptying his stomach of the small amount of things that were in there. Retching once, twice, three times, nothing coming up. And- oh _god_ , the smells. They struck him now, a scent so bad and gut-wrenching you'd rather be dead then smell it. His whole body shook as he tried to through up, but it was fruitless. 

That was Colby's hair. That was his hair. _He's dead, he's dead, he's dead.._ His mind supplied him, but with an afterthought that sent chills through Sam's body. 

_..I killed him._

 

 

Sam came back to reality, shaking. Colby was in front of him, hands on his shoulders, shouting something that Sam couldn't make out. His ears rang like a bomb had gone off, and everything hurt, the feel of being burned and beaten still very, very real. He breathed quickly, in and out, hands over his eyes as he grabbed at his own face, and he felt the blood drip down his back, down the raw skin, screaming at him to just end it all so he would finally be free of that pain.

"I'm fine," Sam whispered, muttering it over and over, trying to convince himself. His previously frantic heart beat finally began to slow. "I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine.."

He was, in fact, not fine.

Not remotely.

So, being so not remotely fine, Sam pushed past the brunette blocking his way, ripping in the crutches off the bed in his escape. He opened the door, head down as he recounted all the things he'd just seen, almost falling down the stairs at how fast he was trying to go. He audibly heard Colby running after him, shouting his name, but Sam grabbed a sweatshirt hanging on the coat rack before he was gone, straight out the door, on a trip to who knows where.

 

It was a little cool for the fall, and there weren't many people on the beach. Some milled around, but the mass of them was more up on the boardwalk, having fun with their happy families, able-bodied with unharmed minds. No one even bat an eyelash at hooded figure sitting alone by the seaside, knees pulled up to his chest, crutches sitting next to him in the sand. They just walked past, all smiles and joy. It was bittersweet to him. Despite the temperature, people still managed to withstand the cold, splashing around in the ocean having the time of their lives. He watched with disinterested eyes. Not one scar on them, and after so long of just seeing his own body, they seemed almost out of place.

Hours after he initially arrived, the sun began to dip in the horizon, and less and less people seemed to be around. It was comforting, in a way. Less noise, easier to reflect, to calm down. It was odd that he hadn't calmed down already with the hours he'd been sitting out there, alone in his head. But, in a different way, it wasn't surprising at all. He'd completely disregarded the possibility of having any sort of drawback from his seven months of agony, even with the fact he'd experienced it a bit soon after he escaped. He'd believed everything would go back to normal, all of it would go away once he arrived home. Sadly, that optimistic, ignorant view of his situation wasn't real, and nothing went away. Even then, sitting on the beach with the waves splashing up toward his feet, he could hear the raspy sound of the man's voice. Feel the phantom pain of burns in his side, the age old aches that were long gone by then, in places he didn't like to thing about. It was all too much and too little at the same time.

He didn't know why his solution after fleeing the house was to immediately come to the beach. He had no explanation, other than the place radiated a nice, wholesome feeling. The beach was a place to forget things and have fun with your friends. Sam didn't have anyone, anything, other than the hoodie hanging from his thin frame, the crutches sitting next to him, and the thoughts of soft, sweet pillows lulling him into a blissful sleep.

And, apparently, a friend.

Someone sat down a good three feet away from Sam, three rulers length. When a pine-cologne scent washed over him, he knew it was Colby.

There was silence, only disturbed by the last people still mowing around, the chatter of distant unintelligible humans. Sam refused to look at Colby, kept his gaze steely and focused ahead, on the white capped waves in the distance.

"It just doesn't seem real, you know?"

Sam breathed slowly, savoring the sound of his best friend's voice, but he didn't look away.

"Ever since you disappeared, it just all seemed fake. Like it wasn't actually happening, and it was all a dream." He continued, voice scarily vulnerable and soft, like pillows. "I prayed it was a dream, a nightmare, and that thought, that hope kept me going for the first, I dunno, month." He cleared his throat. "Then, the reality started to set in. There were no news on you, at all. Nothing was changing. It was impossible to do anything - upload videos, sleep, eat, be happy or laugh at all. I blamed, myself, you know."

Sam nodded, his first show of even acknowledging Colby's arrival, before he spoke. "This doesn't feel real," He admitted, staring out at the sun dipping beneath the horizon, a potentially beautiful sunset obscured by dull gray clouds. "Nothing has since I left that place." He moved his legs closer to his chest, hugging them like he would a person. "What if I'm still there, and this is my body's way of coping?" He wondered aloud, and finally, he turned to see his friend staring right back at him. "What if you're not here, and I'm just hallucinating cause I can't physically deal with the thought of you really being gone?" He bit his lip, and found himself on the verge of tears again. He wanted to scream at himself, will the water welling up in his eyes to go away, but he couldn't. He couldn't control himself. "I don't want this to just be a dream, Colby. I don't, but it seems like it. And I hate that feeling."

"This isn't a dream, Sam," Colby reassured firmly, worry coating his tone. "This is real. You're here, I'm here. You're safe."

"I know," Sam murmured in response, voice small. "I just can't help but doubt. It's so different here than there, Colby. It's a big change, and not a bad one, but it's hard to settle into. I'm- I'm paranoid all the time, and I just don't want to go back, and it feels like there's always something there, around every corner, just waiting to whisk me away."

"Nobody's going to take you back," Colby turned his body toward Sam, now, eyes lit up with concern. "Even if they were, I would never let them. None of us would. There's been a huge gaping whole in the house since you've been gone, and nobody could do anything to fill it. We need you, Sam, you're a part of us." A single tear made it's way down Sam's cheek, cold against his skin. "You're a part of our family."

He shook his head. "Thank you," He responded, unsure on how to voice his gratitude. Thank you didn't sound enough, but he couldn't think of anything else. He was crying, for god's sake, there was a very cold breeze and he was getting colder by the second. He just wanted to go home.

And, as if reading his mind, Colby pushed himself off the sand and grabbed the crutches which had slowly been becoming covered by the wind, putting a hand out for Sam to take. He eyed it with interest. "Come on," the brunette said, an inviting smile settled on his face. Sam took it, surprised by the warmth and strength of the grasp. "No one's ever going to take you away again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last beach talking section was written today, February 20th, at 2:50 am, all the stuff before that is older because i actually forgot i started writing a thirteenth chapter for this. sorry about the maybe blatant writing style changes or like, different skill levels of writing, i didn't want to rewrite it and i wanted to finish off watercolor tonight


End file.
